The Long Lonely Road
by runnerman87
Summary: What would have happened if Harry hadn't destroyed the diary using a Basilisk fang but had found another way to defeat Tom Riddle? This story explores that question. Rated Teen for mild language and character death in later chapters.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

14 July 1988

Harry Potter ran. He ran as fast as his seven, soon to be eight-year-old legs could carry him. Granted, it wasn't particularly fast on an adult scale, but it was usually enough to carry him away from his beached whale of a cousin and his sadistic, sycophantic followers. Unfortunately for Harry, Dudley's gang had recently developed something that passed for group tactics, and even the most formidable prey is often unable to escape a determined and well-coordinated group of hunters. Just ask an elk. Unfortunately for Harry, he was far from formidable, and even his unflagging stamina could not overcome the simple mistake of turning down a blind alley in the shopping district. Dudley and Piers quickly cornered him, and Harry knew that he would never manage to dodge both of his pursuers to escape. He might have been able to sneak past one of them, but one of the two would surely nab him, and then the beating would be even worse. He was left with two choices, either to accept meekly the beating that his cousin would deliver or to attempt to jump the fence at the end of the alley. Knowing Dudley would find it very difficult to follow, Harry chose the fence.

With a running start and a boost from a fortuitously placed packing crate, Harry leapt over the wooden fence at the back of the alley with all the cat-like grace he had learned from years of dodging his tormentors. He found himself at a loading dock of some kind and, circling the building in front of him, rapidly discovered that he had made his way to the Little Whinging Public Library. Harry smirked. There was no way Dudley would find him in the _library_. Books were Dudley's kryptonite, a term which Harry had come across after sneaking a number of dusty comic books out of Dudley's second bedroom into his cupboard and reading them by the miniscule rays of light that filtered into his cupboard during one of his numerous confinements. Apparently, the written word in any form was abhorrent to Dudley, even if it told stories of adventure, accompanied by exciting graphics. _'Maybe Dudley can't even read them.'_ Harry snickered at the thought, and it never occurred to him that it was at all unusual that he _could_ read the comic books, which were intended for boys between nine and twelve.

Relishing his amusement at Dudley's stupidity and blissfully unaware of his own ignorance, Harry walked into the library, which he found to be air conditioned. Harry allowed his smirk to grow, having realized that the library would make the perfect summer hideaway. He would be far cooler than he could ever be in his cupboard, his cousin would never find him, and he could entertain himself by reading a virtually unlimited supply of books. It would not be perfect, of course, because he would still be required to spend the majority of his time at his home, completing the plethora of chores his aunt liked to assign him. Fortunately for Harry, his uncle has not followed through on his threat to make Harry begin mowing the lawn that summer. Vernon had, of course, correctly concluded that the neighbors would likely frown on a scrawny boy pushing around a machine larger than he was and which could easily remove a foot. Harry was naturally unaware of Vernon's thought process because none of his neighbors, teachers or any other adult of his acquaintance had ever shown any concern for his well-being; he was simply grateful that he was not required to mow the Dursleys' large lawn thrice a week, as would be required to keep the lawn to Uncle Vernon's exacting standards wherever Harry was involved. He could, instead, spend his time in the library and only rake up and dispose of the grass clippings once per week, which was quite as often as Uncle Vernon was willing to mow the lawn himself, thank-you-very-much.

* * *

Harry read three books intended for children his age in his first day at the library, all written by an American woman called Warner. He found the idea of children living in a boxcar and solving mysteries quite comical, but he enjoyed the sense of belonging the books granted him. Having read stories about children his own age, he even felt like he had made friends. Still, he got the strange impression that all the stories were basically the same and he quickly grew bored with the series. It did not occur to him that he had read the stories far more quickly than he should have done, even with his extraordinary reading level. He was similarly ignorant that he should never have reached the conclusion that the stories were all fundamentally identical so quickly.

As the library was closing for the evening, Harry found a book called _The Once and Future King_ which sounded interesting. The book's back cover promised kings and queens, romance and war, love and betrayal and, most exciting of all, a wizard. Harry snuck the book inside his oversized t-shirt, knowing that his Aunt and Uncle would never allow him to get a library card, and he was grateful for the first time in his life that he was only allowed to wear his cousin's enormous hand-me-downs. Harry walked out the front door, past strange devices whose purpose he could not guess, with his pilfered book. He was unaware that the frame-like structures were intended to prevent patrons doing exactly the sort of thing he had just accomplished, and simply concerned himself with getting home before dark. He had already forfeited his supper by staying overlong in the library, and his aunt was likely to banish him to his cupboard for several days if he failed to arrive home before Dudley returned from his evening mischief.

He'd had a wonderful day, and so consumed was he with his adventures in the land of literacy that Harry overlooked the truly spectacular events that had begun to occur around him. His magic was finally beginning to respond to his conscious desires rather than his unconscious fears. Changing the color of his teacher's wig hadn't had any practical value, but the ability to perform petty larceny without detection turned out to be quite useful. Once he arrived home, Harry took advantage of his aunt's inattention to slip his pilfered book into his cupboard, where he began reading it later that night. He was fascinated by many of the characters, but Merlin, the ancient wizard with his garish robes and slightly barmy manner, interested Harry most of all. He seemed so familiar that Harry was certain he must have met him somewhere before. He just couldn't be sure where.

* * *

The remainder of Harry's summer passed quickly, as did the summers that followed. He read everything that he could lay his hands on. He read fantasies and mystery novels, history and science books, ever expanding his knowledge and deductive reasoning skills, though Harry himself never thought of it in those terms. Somehow, though, he was always drawn to the more fantastic books, whether fantasy or mythology. He even read a few old Greek tragedies, and he was amazed at the extent to which magic appeared to play a part in the lives of the ancients. Somehow the fantastic parts of the stories he read seemed comforting, like he imagined going home might be if there were no Dudley or Uncle Vernon to hit him and no Aunt Petunia to berate his "freakishness." His secret time in the library gave him a sense of belonging that he could never achieve elsewhere in his life.

Every year, on his birthday, Harry allowed himself a small treat. It was a relatively minor act of defiance, but it was the only way he could think of to remind himself that his birthday was important, even if no one else seemed to agree. He would creep out of his bed early in the morning, just as the sun was rising, and complete as many of his chores as he could before returning inside to cook breakfast for the Dursleys. He would sneak an extra piece of toast in the kitchen, risking his uncle's wrath, before serving breakfast for the Dursleys and joining them at the table. After finishing the meager breakfast allowed him, Harry would quickly wash the breakfast dishes before scurrying about the house, completing whatever chores had been assigned him and absconding to the library before his aunt could find him to assign more work. He always found the largest, most interesting book he could and inevitably read it in its entirety in one day. On his tenth birthday, Harry read all three parts of _The Lord of the Rings_ in a single day. He never wondered whether this was at all odd; it was quite natural as far as Harry was concerned, and he simply accepted it as his birthday present to himself.

The summer of 1991 passed in much the same way, with each day little different from the day preceding it. Harry's chores had grown since the summer three years previous when he had first discovered the joys of the Little Whinging Public Library; his uncle had finally decided that Harry was old enough to mow the lawn and, as Harry had once predicted, he was required to do so three times a week to meet his uncle's exacting standards. Everything changed dramatically, however, in the last week of July when Harry received a letter. This was quite an unusual occurrence, as no one had ever written to Harry before, and none of the Dursleys had ever seen a letter addressed so precisely:  
Mr. Harry Potter  
The Cupboard Under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey

* * *

A/N: Thanks to my beta reader, werekitten, for her helpful suggestions. This is my first attempt at creative writing in a long time, and it seems that I needed a bit of help to ease back into things. Per her suggestion, I'd like to inform the reader that kryptonite it the only known material with the ability to harm Superman. I thought everyone knew that, but apparently I was mistaken. In honor of that oversight, Brina now receives my gentle teasing, provided that she's actually reading this. I blow my nose at you, young lady. Superman and kryptonite are both owned by DC Comics. 


	2. The Maiden and the Dragon

**Chapter 1: The Maiden and the Dragon**

A shocked Harry emerged from the staff room, dragging an equally distraught Ron along behind him. In fairness to Ron, the news they had heard while hidden in the wardrobe was horrifying. No brother ever wants to hear that his little sister has been kidnapped and is, for all intents and purposes, dead. It was therefore completely understandable that the first thing out of Ron's mouth was utter nonsense.

"Harry, we've got to find Lockhart and tell him what we know!"

Harry looked at Ron with pity. He knew that he could never let Ron down, and he promised himself that he'd do everything within his twelve-year-old abilities to rescue Ginny. Still, he felt a nagging feeling in his gut that told him involving Lockhart would be disastrous. "Ron, I'm sorry mate, but that's a terrible idea. Lockhart's a ponce. There's no way he'd be able to help Ginny. Remember the pixies? That spell of his didn't even slow the bloody things down!" He instinctively waited a moment for Hermione to chastise him for his language before remembering that his other best friend was currently in hospital. Sighing, he finished, "I'll bet he made it up on the spot!"

"Bloody Hell, Harry! It's my sister were talking about! We've got to help her!" Ron was visibly trembling, and Harry thought he may even have been holding back tears. It pained him to do what he was about to, but Harry had no intention of trusting the great blond git.

"Ron, we _are_ going to help Ginny. We're gonna go down there and get her right now, but there's no way we're bringing Lockhart. He'd accidentally hurt Ginny as likely as help her." He paused a beat before amending, "No, actually he'll definitely hurt her." Harry raised his right arm for dramatic effect, and the reminder of Lockhart's botched healing spell seemed to finally get through to Ron, who glared at Harry before slumping in defeat.

"Alright, Harry. We'll try it your way, but Woden help you if Ginny dies."

Harry gulped. Hearing Ron put it so bluntly made him more than a little nervous, but he was certain that they could save Ginny and that they could do it far better without "help" from Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry struggled to find some way to reassure Ron, but found that he'd already used up his limited supply of wisdom, so he simply nodded and said, "Let's go."

If anyone had been walking the corridors they might have seen two young boys, one noticeably smaller and scrawnier than his companion, holding an argument in hushed tones before carefully making their way little-used girls' loo on the second floor. Instead, the corridors were eerily deserted; the students were seeking shelter in their houses, the faculty morosely made arrangements to close the school, and even Peeves the Poltergeist hid from the unknown menace. There were none to mark the passage of two best friends, their worry gnawing at them like a living thing, off to attempt an impossible rescue. By the time Ron and Harry had reached the second floor corridor, the combination of their growing nervousness with the horrible, forbidding silence of the normally bustling school had made them almost giddy. They were both sufficiently distracted that they failed to notice the soft magical glow coming from the wall opposite Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

With a little luck and some judicious help from Moaning Myrtle, who oddly enough had not fled her toilet, Harry and Ron found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Harry's hissed _"Open,"_ resulted in no small amount of wonder as an entire sink sunk into the floor, revealing a slime-covered pipe and a precipitous drop. Harry and Ron looked at each other, and blinked. Somehow they both knew, without needing to ask, that they were going to play that ridiculous "Rock, paper, scissors" ritual the twins always performed to decide which one of them would do an unpleasant task. Ron's rock beat Harry's scissors, and Ron grinned.

"Bad luck, mate. Looks like you're first."

Harry grimaced, but he didn't complain. He grabbed his wand, crossed the fingers on his left hand in the Muggle gesture for good luck, and jumped feet first down the pipe. At first Harry fell almost straight down, but after a few seconds his path began to curve gently, and Harry realized that he wouldn't be killed in his descent into the Chamber of Secrets. He let out a whoop of glee. This was fun! He felt like he'd been falling forever, though in reality it had been no more than thirty seconds, when he was suddenly ejected horizontally from the end of the pipe. He tumbled once before crushing a number of ancient skeletons that littered the floor of the cave he had emerged in.

After a moment, Harry realized that Ron had no way to know that Harry had arrived safely, and he shouted into the pipe at the top of his voice, "Ron! I landed okay! Come on down!" Harry heard the near-echo of his voice reverberating in the pipe, but he could not be sure if Ron had heard him. A moment later his doubts were put to rest as he was struck full-on by Ron, who had just been hurled into the cave by the force of his momentum. Fortunately for both boys, Salazar Slytherin had planned his secret chamber carefully, and neither received any injuries more serious than bumps and bruises.

Harry looked at his best mate and saw Ron wearing a scowl, obviously trying to figure out where to go next. Unless Slytherin had disguised the lair of the Basilisk behind some well-placed stalagmite or stalagmite--Harry could never remember which was which. As such an ignominious hiding place seemed an unlikely den for the Monster of Slytherin, they had no alternative except to proceed deeper into the dark cave where the pipe had deposited them. They began moving forward by silent consent, and both continuously glanced nervously about for any sign of Ginny or the Heir of Slytherin. They managed to make their way through the cave relatively quickly, though they did lose a few minutes to Ron's panic attack at the sight of a thirty-foot snake molting. Privately, Harry thought that Ron's panic was quite justified, and he began feeling even less charitable towards the Heir of Slytherin than he had previously. Nevertheless, the intrepid heroes quickly found themselves facing a dead end. It was obvious to both that they had come the right way, as there had been no other way to go, and the wall before them was obviously man-made of high-quality stonework. Nevertheless, they could see no obvious way to proceed further. This time, it was Ron who spotted the clue.

"Hey! Look, Harry, there's a great bloody snake carved in the wall up there. See?"

"Yeah, Ron. You reckon I should try Parseltongue again?"

"It couldn't hurt. It's weird to have two barriers that you're supposed to pass exactly the same way, though."

Harry simply nodded, his trust in Ron's judgment concerning all matters strategic having been enhanced by Ron's frequent thrashing of Harry in many an ill-fated chess match. He was therefore nearly as surprised as Ron when a hissed command actually worked, and the enormous wall parted down its center. The two halves began sliding ponderously away from one another and into some sort of recessed crevice. He was even more shocked by the fact that the centuries-old door, which basically consisted of two enormous slabs of granite, opened without any grinding, gnashing or even so much as a whisper. Preparing to share his incredulity with his best mate, Harry noticed that Ron appeared completely unimpressed. _'It must be one of those wizarding things I haven't got used to yet.'_

A few moments later, when the doors had stopped moving and the cave with lit by an unearthly green light filtering in from the Chamber before them, Harry whispered carefully to Ron, "Come on, Ron. Let's go."

"No way, Harry. That Basilisk'll kill anything that looks at it!" Harry's face was stony, and Ron continued, "Dammit, Harry, we can't both die!" Ron's tone turned from firm to hopeful when he continued, "You have a go first. I'll wait here."

Harry was affronted at Ron's cavalier attitude toward Harry's life. "Oh really? And what if I get killed? You can't just sit out here until Judgment Day waiting for me to come back with Ginny."

Ron looked strangely at Harry, who realized that Ron had probably never heard of Judgment Day, but Ron apparently understood Harry's point without needing to know the Muggle cultural reference. "Dunno, Harry." Ron looked genuinely puzzled for a moment, and Harry nearly huffed in exasperation before Ron continued, "Hey, that skin thing was huge! I bet you'll make a big bloody racket fighting the Basilisk! I guess if I haven't heard anything for a while, I'll have to come in after you."

Ron's advice was sound, at least in a broad sense, but his causal disregard for Harry's safety left Harry feeling rather hard done by. He was confused and more than a little angry with Ron, who had never shown any reluctance to fight before but now seemed ready to throw Harry to the wolves.

"Ron! Are you mad? You can't send me in there by myself! I'll be killed!" Harry was nearly begging Ron not to abandon him. His innate courage would allow him to face any situation that need placed in his path, but he had no wish to fight an epic battle without all available help.

For his part, Ron had couldn't understand why Harry was refusing to charge off and save the day, so he did what he always did when he was confused. He got angry. "Bloody Hell Harry," he whispered furiously. "You've faced You-Know-Who! Don't tell me you're afraid of some ruddy great snake! You're a Parselmouth, for Tiwe's sake."

Harry was of course terrified of fighting the Basilisk, though he had every intention of doing it anyway. He couldn't understand how Ron could call him a coward right after refusing to fight to rescue Ginny, but Harry simply couldn't stand his best friend thinking he was afraid. He turned a furious eye on Ron and snapped, "Fine. If I get killed in there, it's your fault." Then Harry spun on his heel and stormed through the open door and into the Chamber of Secrets.

The Chamber was lit by an unearthly green light and supported by serpentine pillars with horrible, lifelike eyes, from which the light seemed to emanate. The air in the Chamber was as still as death, as if the world were holding its breath, awaiting the outcome of the pending confrontation. Harry's shoes clicked softly on the stone floor, but his footfalls seemed to echo off every corner of the eerily quiet room. He strained to hear sound other than his own footfalls, hoping against hope that the Basilisk had gone back to sleep.

As he made his way along the long room, Harry noticed that the Chamber as a mockery of a Muggle cathedral with a long approach leading to a short open space. An enormous statue of an ancient, monkeyish man with a beard reaching almost to his toes stood in the place where an altar should have been, as if the entire structure had been built as a monument to his greatness. Which, Harry supposed, it probably had. As he drew closer, Harry noticed that the statue leaned forward slightly, as if it were threatening those who dared approach. A small black and red bundle lay at its feet, and another figure stood over the bundle. Harry blinked, trying to clear his eyes, because the standing figure seemed to glow with a soft light. The glow stubbornly remained.

Dismissing it as a trick of the light, Harry raced to the bundle, which he correctly assumed had to be Ginny. As he drew closer, he recognized the figure bathed in the strange, unearthly light as Tom Riddle. Harry was confused about how Tom could have ended up in the Chamber, but in his haste to get to Ginny, he ignored the nagging feeling of wrongness in the back of his mind. When he reached Ginny a moment later, Harry checked for her pulse with his left hand. He kept a tight hold on his wand with his right in case the Heir of Slytherin emerged from the shadows. Ginny's skin was cold to the touch, almost as if all her energy was going to keep her alive and she had none to spare for little things like keeping warm. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry found Ginny's pulse. It was weak and erratic, but it was there. Harry had learned a few minor healing spells for bruises and sore muscles, having found them quite handy for the odd Quidditch injury, but he had no idea how to help Ginny even if he knew what was wrong with her.

Harry resolved to get Ginny out of the Chamber and up to see Madame Pomfrey as soon as possible. He considered levitating her, but he had no idea how his spell might react to whatever had sapped her strength. One of the first things that Professor Flitwick had taught them was how dangerous and unpredictable the results of mixing spells could be. It had been during their first lesson, and it was one of the only times Harry had seen the ebullient little man completely serious. Harry had never forgotten the warning, so he pocketed his wand and bent to pick up Ginny, intending to carry her bodily from the Chamber.

Just as he was wrapping his arms around her, he recognized a small black book lying next to Ginny's limp hand. It was Tom Riddle's diary. Harry turned to consider the peculiar specter that he had dismissed only a moment before, and found him face-to-face with the not-quite-solid form of Tom Riddle. Now having a moment to process the sight before him, Harry's mind balked. He wanted to trust Tom Riddle, whose help had been instrumental in allowing Harry to find the entrance to the Chamber, but Tom should have been nearly seventy. Instead he stood in the Chamber of Secrets, where he had no business being, and looked not a day older than he had in the scene Harry had witnessed in the diary. Something was very wrong. In a flash of insight, Harry realized that Tom--no, Riddle: he was no friend of Harry's--must've had something to do with the Heir of Slytherin. It was the only was that Tom could have entered the Chamber of Secrets.

If it weren't anatomically impossible, Harry would have kicked himself. He had fallen for a trick he'd read about in countless mystery novels--misdirection. He managed to piece together a reasonable guess at what had really happened. _'The real Tom Riddle must have been like Malfoy. He must've agreed with all this "Mudblood" rubbish, even if he didn't know who the Heir was. He must not have guessed that the Governors would want to close Hogwarts after someone died, and the Heir would have needed a scapegoat. Poor Hagrid. He was framed for a murder he knew nothing about, and the real culprit just walked away. Riddle must have made the diary as a diversion when the Chamber was re-opened, but how was it opened this time around?'_

Harry was no closer to an answer to that particular question than he had been when he and Ron discovered that Malfoy was not responsible, and he was certain that the solution to that mystery would be critical. Unfortunately for Harry, he didn't want to spend any more time contemplating the problem, and he failed to anticipate the events that followed.

Some part of him was sure that he had to act, and act immediately, so he surreptitiously removed his wand from the pocket built into his robes. He was immensely glad that he had not cast it aside the moment he had spotted Ginny, as he had been inclined to do, correctly guessing that Riddle would have taken advantage of the situation.

Harry raised his hand in the blink of an eye and bellowed, _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ He had cast the spell at point-blank range, and Riddle hadn't had time to react. He only barely managed to look surprised before Harry's spell passed harmlessly through its target and dissipated against the ancient stone wall of the Chamber.

Riddle looked smug and chucked a bit at Harry's gobsmacked expression. "Come now Potter. You can hardly hurt me like that. I'm made of pure magic, after all." Riddle's smug expression changed subtly to something Harry couldn't identify, but he thought it rather resembled the face Hermione made when she felt that a concept was obvious. "I would have thought you would have figured out at least that much when you met me in my diary."

_'Of course!'_ Harry chided himself, _'he's a memory stored in the diary. I probably couldn't use magic against him any more than I could against a ghost.'_ Harry wondered whether the glare of the Basilisk would do the trick, since it had rather effectively incapacitated Sir Nicholas. Still, he wasn't about to risk summoning an ancient Dark Creature just to sate his curiosity, even if he knew how it was done. It would have been like summoning a demon and politely asking it to destroy Lord Voldemort for him; it might have worked, but it wouldn't have been worth the risk.

Harry racked his brain trying to figure out how to fight a piece of pure magic stored in a book, and just like that, he realized he had overlooked the obvious solution. He had to resist the urge to grin while pretending to contemplate the apparition before him. He took a small step backwards and felt the diary under his left foot. He gave it a great shove, moving it far from himself and from Ginny and once again pointed his wand. _"Incendio!"_

The specter of Tom Riddle once again blinked in surprise before looking chagrined. Harry felt a crow of triumph welling up in his chest at the look on Riddle's face, but when he looked back at the burning diary, he realized that it was not being consumed. As the magic of Harry's spell dissipated, the book returned to normal. It looked none the worse for having been aflame only moments before, and Harry let a growl of frustration. He suppressed the urge to shout and throw things, but it was a near thing, and Riddle began speaking once again.

"Well, well, Potter, I am impressed. Young Ginevra touted you as some sort of hero, but I confess I thought she was exaggerating." Harry wondered briefly who Riddle was taking about before he realized that no one had ever told him Ginny's real name, and now he could guess why. Her name was intelligent, beautiful and sophisticated. He was certain that Ginny would have hated it. While Harry was contemplating the mysteries of Ginny's name, Riddle continued, "It seems that I was mistaken. I had hoped to lure you down here in search of Ginevra, and you have obliged wonderfully. I had hoped to have a little chat with you before I killed you," Tom continued, "but you've shown far more resourcefulness that I ever anticipated. You surprise me, Harry Potter, and I despise surprises, so I'm afraid this is the end of our conversation. Goodbye, Harry Potter."

Harry had time to wonder why everyone intent on killing him insisted on saying "Goodbye, Harry Potter" first, but Riddle interrupted his thoughts, _"Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"_

For the first time, Harry heard another person speaking Parseltongue, and while he understood it perfectly, he also recognized the odd hissing sound that was all normal people could hear. For a moment, Harry thought that Riddle's words themselves were utter nonsense, as Slytherin was clearly nowhere nearby. Then, in a horrible moment of clarity, he saw the mouth of the great statue open and heard a horrific rasping sound emanate from its depths. In that moment Harry realized that Riddle wasn't just a sympathizer, as Harry had previously thought, but the Heir of Slytherin himself.

Guessing that the Basilisk had been summoned, Harry closed his eyes and fled blindly back the way he had come. He felt oddly like he was abandoning Ginny to her fate, but he had read about lions in the Little Whinging Public Library, and he remembered that they prefer to chase after live prey than to settle for something already dead. Many other predators were less choosey, of course, but he guessed that a Basilisk was hardly the sort of animal to scavenge when live prey was available.

Harry heard an enormous weight strike the floor, and guessed that the Basilisk had emerged from the statue's mouth and slithered down its beard. In macabre fascination, like a Muggle watching a train wreck, Harry turned and opened his eyes to stare at the titanic creature, which faced Riddle and seemed to await instructions. It was at least sixty feet long. In a small, detached corner of his mind, Harry noted that it dwarfed the skin that he and Ron had found, and that same corner of his brain wondered how the evil creature had gotten so big. The rest of his mind was consumed with blind terror. The brilliant, poisonous green of the Basilisk had reminded Harry of another giant serpent that had wandered across his path, though his previous encounter was confined within the relatively safe walls of the Little Whinging Public Library. The denizen of the Chamber of Secrets seemed eerily similar to the descriptions Harry had read of the King of Serpents--Jormungand, The Gaping Maw. Following swiftly on the wings of that thought was another, even more disturbing, one. The escape of Jormungand from his watery prison was prophesied to bring about Ragnarok, the Apocalypse.

These thoughts passed through Harry's mind, honed by years of secretive reading, in a matter of moments. As he shook himself from his reverie, Harry heard the end of Riddle's hissed command, _"...the boy!"_ In an instant, the Basilisk turned its head toward Harry, and he found himself staring directly into the creature's bulbous yellow eyes.

Harry felt himself dying, and some part of him knew that if he died, the echoes of this day would stretch around the world and would be heard for years to come. He regretted the necessity, but found that he really had no fear of death. He found comfort from Dumbledore's words the previous June. "Death is but the next great adventure," he had said. Then, just as he was preparing to accept his fate, Harry found himself being pulled in two directions. Life and Death pulled on him with equal strength. Something was anchoring Harry's soul to his body, and he found himself balanced on the razor's edge with a choice to make and one last instant in which to make it.

Harry remembered Ginny's freckled red face, bright with laughter at the twins' antics in the living room at the Burrow. She had been unaware of his presence, and he guessed that she had been completely herself for the only time in his memory. Harry decided that he wanted to see her face like that more often. Then he remembered another vision of Ginny, pale and still, lying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. He made his decision.

Harry's awareness returned to his body so suddenly that he actually jolted and stumbled before he could regain his balance. He righted himself before raising his eyes and fearlessly meeting the gaze of the deadly creature before him.

* * *

Never before had the Basilisk, which had existed since before the dawn of human history, met a will to match its own. Every creature that had ever met its gaze, man or woman, young or old, wizard, Muggle or creature, everything that met its gaze had died. They had all died instantly and without a fuss, but this mere hatchling, whose entire life had passed for the Basilisk like a waking yawn does for wizards, had defied the ancient magic in its eyes and survived. For the first time in its long life, the Basilisk knew fear.

* * *

Harry, of course, knew none of this. He simply saw the ancient creature undulate in a strange way before it began hissing incoherently and moving backwards. Harry's courage flared, and he raised his forgotten wand to point it at the creature. He had no idea what spell would be effective against a Basilisk or even if any magic could penetrate its ancient hide. He wished with every fiber of his being that he could find a spell to dispose of the creature quickly and certainly. So intent was his focus on the problem at hand that Harry never noticed that his connection to the ancient magic permeating every inch of Hogwarts had grown far more powerful when his awareness had returned to his body.

Suddenly and completely unexpectedly, a sickly green light erupted from the end of Harry's wand and sped toward the open mouth of the Basilisk. The creature appeared to swallow the light, and for a moment Harry thought that the spell, whatever it was, hadn't had any effect on the Basilisk. Then, just as he began to lose hope, Harry noticed the body of the Basilisk begin to swell. He watched in horrid fascination as the creature grew to nearly double its original volume before the mysterious swelling suddenly reversed itself, and the Basilisk collapsed back to its original size. The glittering, poisonous green hue that had previously marked its scales softened, leaving behind only a pale, natural green that closely resembled the piping on the Slytherin robes. The sight made Harry feel peaceful, somehow, as if the natural order of things had been restored.

At the same time, Harry felt a curious emptiness. It was as if someone had just turned off a very loud stereo, but instead of hearing ringing in his ears, he felt it in his soul. He found that the change was not unpleasant, as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders, and he guessed that whatever he had been feeling had something to do with the Basilisk. Before he could guess what might have caused the sensation, Harry realized that he still felt a similar sensation, but it was smaller and felt sickly. It seemed that whatever it belonged to was even more twisted and evil than the Basilisk had been.

Harry decided that he could contemplate strange sensations after he had moved Ginny safely to the hospital wing, and he prepared to do exactly that, but then he remembered that he had not yet dealt with the architect of the day's events. He turned an eye on the specter of Tom Riddle, and he considered simply ignoring the troublesome Slytherin until Ginny was safe. Just as he settled on this plan he noticed that the red glow he had seen surrounding Riddle had grown stronger and showed wisps of black, as if it were diseased. He wondered whether unnatural light surrounding his adversary was related to the sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach, and something told him that it was. Acting mostly on instinct, Harry reached out with his mind, focusing on the feeling in his stomach and trying to follow it back to its source.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Harry heard Riddle's panicked voice only a moment before his mind practically jumped away from him to connect with the magic of the diary. Part of him noticed that the glow surrounding Riddle, and now the diary as well, undulated strangely, as if it were resisting his efforts. He dismissed the idea that the diary could somehow resist its own destruction it as silly, and he concentrated his efforts. Years later, Harry would remember this moment with embarrassment at his own naivete.

Harry focused every iota of his mind on disconnecting Riddle from the diary containing him; Harry had no idea why he was doing so, but his instincts told him that separating the magic from its container would defeat Riddle. So intent was his focus that Harry did not notice the ache spreading from his scar, and if he had, he probably would not have paid it any mind.

Suddenly, with a bright flash of light and a shriek of agony from Harry, the magic Tom Riddle has imbued in the diary was torn from its container. Riddle's scream of impotent rage echoed around the Chamber, fading away slowly, and Ginny Weasley awoke with a start at the same moment. Harry was unable to celebrate his victory, however, because the moment that he had sundered the diary from its magic, he had felt himself inundated with a flood of memories and vicious emotions. The pain from his scar, previously unnoticed, doubled and trebled; it became so intense that it drove Harry to his knees and brought tears to his eyes. In a wave of nausea, Harry vomited and collapsed.

* * *

When he awoke, Harry had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but Ginny hadn't moved and Ron was not hovering over him in a blind panic, so Harry reckoned that it couldn't have been too long. In fact, Ron was still nowhere to be seen.

"Oi, Ron! Get in here!" Harry shouted as he slowly stood and made his unsteady way to the distraught redhead now seated at the foot of the monstrous statue. Ron, with the dual advantages of having neither nearly died nor endured a titanic battle with a fantastic piece of dark magic, quickly overtook Harry. Ron's slightly belated arrival on the scene did little good however, because he had absolutely no idea how to comfort his distraught sister. Fortunately for Ron, the problem was rapidly taken out of his hands as a Ginny-shaped Bludger went rocketing past him and collided with Harry, bowling him over and attaching itself firmly to his chest.

Harry's bemusement at being tackled by a sobbing female quickly vanished when Ginny's desperate confession began pouring out of her. "Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry! I never meant for all this to happen! I was just so lonely, and Tom was such a good listener, and all I ever wanted was for someone to like me and to want me and not send me away when something better came along like Ron and the twins and Percy always do."

Harry, alerted to Ginny's desperate need for comfort by the fact that she had basically told him all about it, did the only thing he could think of. He awkwardly returned Ginny's clinging embrace. _'This would be a lot easier if I could just sit up,'_ Harry mused, but he was unable to force his body into compliance, and Ginny continued her confession unimpeded.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone. At first, I didn't even know it was me, but after they found Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick, I was so scared that it really was, and I tried so hard not to write in the diary, but it was like Tom forced me to write him. I tried to fight him, but I was so lonely and I sorta wanted someone to talk to, even if it was Tom. Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry! Please don't hate me!

"I wanted to tell you! I tried, but I was so afraid, and then Percy came and I just couldn't! Not in front of him. He would have hated me for sure. I petrified his girlfriend, and he would have never believed that I didn't mean it. He would've thought that I did it all on purpose to make him look bad. I wish I could just stay down here forever and no one would ever know what I did. They're all going to be so angry and no one's ever going to want to talk to me again!

"But now you're here, and you saved me, even though I dunno if I'm worth it." Harry looked horrified at that thought, but Ginny's confession hadn't yet run out of steam, and she had already moved on before he could interrupt. "You killed that awful snake, and you did it for me! How did you do it, Harry? It's so big and so scary, and I don't think I could ever do anything like that. Oh, Harry, please help me, I don't want to be scared anymore!"

Harry guessed that Ginny's rambling, stream-of-consciousness confession had finally run its course, and he said the first thing that came to mind. "Ginny, can you move a bit? I'd like to sit up." Ginny's breath hitched, and Harry realized, belatedly, that he probably could have phrased his request better. Nonetheless, she moved off his chest and sat beside him, facing away from him, and Harry could see that she was steeling herself to be rejected utterly. Harry supposed he couldn't blame her, as he'd never shown her any particular kindness before. He looked at Ron for help, but his redheaded best friend looked just as clueless as Harry felt.

Searching desperately for something, anything, to make the situation better, Harry once again did the first thing that popped into his mind, apparently not having learned his lesson the first time. Ironically, this time his response was perfect. He scooted around in front of Ginny and pulled her back into a hug.

"There, now that I breathe properly." Harry smiled a little, and Ginny seemed to relax a bit in his arms, even if she couldn't see his smile. For the first time in his life, Harry spoke slowly and carefully, mindful of Ginny's fragile emotional state. "It wasn't your fault, Ginny. Tom tricked me too. He convinced me that Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets last time, even though I know that Hagrid would never hurt anyone. I should have known better!" Harry felt Ginny tense as he became angry at himself, and he made a concerted effort to control his temper.

"It really wasn't your fault Ginny, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you." Harry wisely kept to himself the thought that he had no idea what he'd be able to do if someone tried to send Ginny to Azkaban. For the moment he was content with the look of hope beginning to blossom on Ginny's face, and his heart was gladdened. Deciding it would be best to quit while he was ahead, he simply pulled her closer, and she squeezed him even tighter, apparently trying to shut out the world.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Harry looked up and gave a start. At some point during their conversation, Ron had walked up behind Ginny and put his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of brotherly affection. Finally coming back to himself after his surprisingly helpful speech, he realized how long he and Ron had likely spent in the bowels of the school. It felt like hours at the very least, and the staff was likely in a state of panic. "We should be going back. It's cold down here, and I bet Ron's hungry."

Harry sniggered at his own joke and tried to release his embrace to stand, but Ginny clung to him tighter, having apparently been quite serious about her desire to stay in the Chamber and hide from the world. "Ginny, we really do have to go. I promise that we'll look after you, but I can't carry you all the way back to Gryffindor tower."

At that moment, Ginny seemed to come back to herself and realize just whose lap she had claimed. She squeaked with embarrassment before blushing furiously and jumping from Harry's lap, as if burned. As soon as she was standing, she seized Ron's hand in an iron grip and refused to let go, appearing to transfer her need for comfort to her big brother. Ron looked to Harry for help, but Harry was far to busy trying to contain his laughter at his best mate's predicament to be of any use. Unable to extricate himself from his little sister, Ron began leading her out of the Chamber. With a Herculean effort, Harry contained his mirth at Ron's consternation and followed.

During the few short minutes it took them to make the trek from the gargantuan statue to the humble sewage pipe leading to the surface, Harry realized that he'd overlooked a serious flaw in his plan in his haste to get into the Chamber and rescue Ginny. They had no way of getting back up the pipe. The only idea he could come up with was to fly up the pipe on broomsticks, but he'd left his broom in Gryffindor Tower and neither Ron nor Ginny even owned one. He considered the looming problem of the pipe with growing panic, but he was unable to find an answer.

While he was nearly in a trance trying to find a solution to his dilemma, Harry's subconscious took over and did something extremely foolish. It performed a bit of magic Harry had never been taught and had no idea how to operate, and it did so without even engaging his conscious mind. Completely unaware of what he was doing, Harry whipped out his wand and bellowed at the top of his voice, _"Accio broomsticks!"_

Less than a minute later, all three students were shocked to see the arrival of not one but three brooms. Ron's jaw hung open for a moment as he recognized Harry's Nimbus 2000 and the twins' Cleansweeps. "Wicked, Harry! How'd you do that?"

Harry looked astonished for a moment, because he had no recollection of actually casting a spell. "I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure these are Fred and George's brooms. Think they'll be angry?" Harry asked with a cheeky grin firmly in place. His nervous tension was evaporating, and he felt like a bit of mischief. He fully intended to blame Ron if Fred and George ever became overly curious about how their brooms had wound up in the Chamber of Secrets. He was certain that being directed toward their second-favorite target would easily divert the twins' attention.

Ginny's face relaxed and under other circumstances she might even have smiled. She clearly suspecting that Harry was up to something, and Harry interpreted her near-amusement as a sign that she would probably recover. It lifted his spirits tremendously. Harry brought his attention back to the situation at hand and asked, "Ginny, how well can you fly?"

Ginny blushed to the tips of her ears and sighed, looking smaller and inexplicably shy. "I'm pretty good. I'm not nearly as good as you, but I'm much better than Ron." Ron looked affronted, but Ginny simply stuck her tongue out at her brother before continuing, "I'll be okay as long as I can see one of you. I don't fancy being alone in there."

Finally given his opportunity, Ron snorted indignantly at the aspersions Ginny had cast on his flying ability before complaining, "Ginny, there's no way you fly better than me! When would you have learned?"

Harry grimaced at the volume of Ron's voice, though he too wondered where Ginny learned her alleged talent on a broomstick. Harry decided that he'd dealt with an upset Ginny enough for one hour, and he simply grabbed his Nimbus and fled up the pipe. Ron and Ginny heard his voice echoing oddly from the mouth of the pipe, "Don't mind me! I'll just see you guys at the top!"

* * *

A/N: Harry's miraculous survival of the Basilisk's gaze is not completely miraculous, just incredibly unlikely. Similar events seem to surround Harry as he goes through his school years, but he has no idea yet how he did it. He simply knew that he could. My beta not-so-gently pointed out that a summoning charm would be impossible for a second year, and she's absolutely right. It's in here for a very good reason, and it's a harbinger of things to come. (In fact, I'm practically hitting you over the head with a sledge hammer. I expect someone will post a review correctly guessing what's going on, but I'll have to wait and see.) Hopefully it's more obvious from the text now that something highly unusual is going on. Most of the weird or uncanny events in this chapter will be explained in Chapter 2: The Prophesy, which will feature the usual post-game wrap-up with Bryant Gumble, Howie Long and Albus Dumbledore. For those of you now seriously questioning my judgment, I assure you that Dumbledore is not going to be telling Harry Trelawney's prophesy in Chapter 2.

I imagine that this chapter gave my beta a major headache, as it required a rather extensive re-write to fix some big problems with characterizations and pacing. She did a great job, and I think the final product reflects her hard work. Thanks, Brina. That said, there were a few points she made which I happen to disagree with, but I think they're likely to make other people uncomfortable as well. The first was about the summoning charms, which I have addressed partially by expanding the surrounding text a bit and partially in the previous paragraph. The second was that my characterization of Ginny does not match the strong young woman we usually see. While Brina was absolutely correct, Ginny is _supposed_ to be out of character in this chapter. I'm aware of how eleven-year-old girls tend to view their older brothers, having suffered through the experience myself, so I know that Ginny would never normally grab Ron's hand like she does, but the circumstances are rather extraordinary. She's just been through a near death experience; she's young, frightened and confused. Having never been subject to rescue by the woman of my dreams I can't say for sure, but I would imagine the fact that it was Harry who rescued her adds to the problem. In fact, as the all-powerful author, I hereby decree it to be so. She starts getting better at the end of the chapter, but it will be an ongoing process over the next few chapters.

Finally, I'll simply state that I'm a first time author, and any comments you wish to leave will make me a better writer. I can't stand it when authors shill for reviews in their Notes, and I apologize if it seems like that's what I'm doing. I promise never to ask again. 


	3. The Prophecy

Chapter Two: The Prophesy

_In the gathering Dark, the Champion of the Light emerges.  
Hope shall drive him; Love shall shield him,  
And in his right hand shall he bear Wrath.  
He shall plumb the depths of the darkness,  
But the darkness shall know him not.  
The time of the Champion approaches._

In place of the abomination that had previously marred the wall opposite the second floor girls' loo, strange words had appeared. They were written in the same color as the Heir of Slytherin's message had been, but no one had been able to do anything about the previous message. The only rational explanation that Harry could come up with was that the old words had somehow been transformed to leave this warning, but he couldn't imagine who might have done it or would even want to. He had personally seen Professor Dumbledore stymied by the strange letters, and he was certain that if Dumbledore couldn't remove the words no one living could. Tom Riddle certainly wouldn't have had Ginny change them before taking her down into the Chamber, but Harry had no idea what else might have happened.

It was then that he noticed the words glowing faintly with whatever strange light he had begun to see in the Chamber. The words didn't have the sickly black color that he had come to associate with Evil, but were instead a bright electric blue. Something told him that a message left by Tom wouldn't have shown such an inspiring color. He vaguely wished Hermione was there; she was better than him at solving obscure puzzles, despite the fact that he was no slouch himself. Suddenly he remembered one of the bizarre bits of inane trivia that Hermione liked to recite from _Hogwarts, A History_, and he understood.

Every witch or wizard who had ever passed through Hogwarts left a footprint in the collected magic of the school. The sheer number and variety of students and faculty that had passed through the castle over the ages left it with power and gifts beyond reckoning. Hermione insisted that the castle had become aware, but Harry had always dismissed that as the enthusiasm of an overexcited bibliophile. Now, he wasn't so sure. It seemed that the castle had just used those gifts to make a prophesy, or at least a reasonable facsimile of one.

The idea made Harry distinctly uncomfortable. It was absurd, really. Everyone seemed to be of the opinion that Divination was hogwash; he had only scheduled it because it sounded easy, after all. Still, Harry could think of no other explanation for the palpable sense of power emanating from the writing on the wall. This was the stuff of legends, and it spoke to him on a primal level. Harry's gut twisted more than it had never done when he faced Voldemort. The words were ominous, and he didn't like the idea of a 'gathering Dark' one bit. It frightened him ways he didn't understand. He was so wrapped up in his shock and deep-seated sense of foreboding that he hadn't even noticed Ron and Ginny emerge from the bathroom.

"Wow."

"Yeah." Ron responded to his sister's monosyllabic confusion the only way he knew how; with monosyllabic confusion of his own. Ginny, at least, had recently had a traumatic experience and therefore had an excuse. He paused for a long moment before adding, "Blimey. How'd you do it, Harry? Even Dumbledore couldn't get rid of that message."

Harry flinched. He didn't think it was a particularly good idea to remind Ginny about the old message, especially so soon after her recent ordeal, but Ron's brotherly concern apparently didn't extend to keeping his big mouth shut. Hoping to divert his companions' attention from that particular subject, he answered Ron's unasked question instead of the simpler one he had actually verbalized. "Ron, do you remember Hermione always going on about how the castle is really alive?"

"Yeah. I guess. Maybe." Ron clearly had not yet fully overcome his shock. Harry was tempted to laugh at his best mate, but something told him it would be in poor taste.

"Well, she does. She's always talking about how _Hogwarts, A History_ says that the castle is alive and can think for itself. I'm guessing it can do magic, too."

"Come off it, Harry! Ron snorted. The moving staircases are weird and all, but the castle actually doing its own magic? It's barmy!"

"I know, but what else could it be? Even Dumbledore couldn't get rid of the writing. And who would write something that weird on purpose?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Harry anticipated his answer and interrupted him. "Besides Fred and George."

"Oh. I dunno."

Harry chose not to mention his suspicion that they were looking at a prophesy. He doubted it would go over well, considering the forecasted dark times ahead. Sighing, he decided that they could talk about it later if they needed to. Besides which, he was practically dead on his feet. "We'd best be going. I don't think we want anyone to find us standing around gawking at the wall."

Ron laughed nervously. "Right sight we'd make, eh, Harry?"

* * *

As they approached Professor McGonagall's office, Harry noticed Ginny's faltering steps. She had walked from the bathroom under her own power, despite her obvious exhaustion, but she was growing more and more sluggish. It had apparently gotten so bad that Ron was practically dragging her by their clasped hands, despite the sedate pace that Harry had set. Harry was surprised by her reluctance to relinquish Ron's hand despite her return to a more comforting environment, but he guessed she was still feeling a bit vulnerable. Professor McGonagall's office was in the next corridor over, but Ginny was fading fast, and Harry doubted that they would make it the rest of the way without resorting to carrying Ginny.

He was unsure how to talk to Ginny outside the microcosm of the Chamber of Secrets, and his uncertainty made Harry awkward. "Um, Ginny, you look tired. Would you like to...uh...rest a bit, maybe?"

"No!" Ginny looked sheepish at her rather emphatic outburst, but she valiantly continued, "I really just want to get there and get this over with, Harry."

Harry considered the problem for a moment, and decided that if Ginny wouldn't rest and was obviously too tired to walk, she would have to either fly or be carried. He had never allowed anyone else to ride his broom, and some part of him rebelled at the idea of sharing the broom that had saved his life when Quirrell had tried to kill him, but he nevertheless reluctantly offered Ginny the use of his Nimbus. She pinked slightly at the thought of using something belonging to Harry, but she accepted the offer nonetheless.

Thus it was that the motley trio, dirty and disheveled, appeared in Professor McGonagall's office, two walking and one barely clinging to Harry's broom. The tension in the room was so thick that Harry could almost smell it, but he was aware enough to notice that Professor Dumbledore had mysteriously returned to the school and was currently working to console a distraught Mrs. Weasley and a stoical, but still obviously worried, Mr. Weasley. Unsure what to do or say, Harry fumbled to a stop and Ron bumped into him from behind, Ginny hovering uncertainly just inside the threshold. The door to the office chose that moment to crash against the opposite wall, and Harry had time to register the looks of shock on faces of the adults, who had turned in unison to face him. In the next moment, Harry, who had been struggling to remain upright since Ron bumped him, lost his battle with gravity and fell flat on his face.

"Oh, my darling Ginny! Thank Thor you're safe!

Recognizing his peril, Harry narrowly managed to dive out of the way of a rampaging Molly Weasley before being trampled to death. From his vantage point flat on his back, he saw Mrs. Weasley seize Ginny from the broom she was riding and gather her into a rib-cracking hug. He also heard a strange warbling trill from Fawkes, who seemed content to perch on the headmaster's shoulder. Harry would have sworn the venerable bird was laughing at him.

For a moment, Harry believed he had avoided one of Mrs. Weasley's infamous hugs, but then he was seized and pulled into an enormous hug of his own, right next to Ginny. "And Harry! You saved my little girl! How ever did you manage it?" Harry blushed, and he was joined in his mortification by Ginny, who, in the way of all twelve-year-olds, was horrified by her mother's behavior.

"Yes, Molly, I believe that we would all like an answer to that question." Dumbledore gave Harry a penetrating gaze over the tops of his half-moon spectacles, his trademark twinkle going madly, and Harry could tell from the intensity of the gaze that his comment, however politely phrased, was actually a command. Taking a deep breath, Harry began recounting the entire story, starting from his visit to Sir Nicholas' Deathday party along with Ron and Hermione and culminating with Hadrid's instructions to visit to the Acromantula colony and his realization that Moaning Myrtle must have been the girl who was killed fifty years previously. Ron interrupted periodically to clarify some points or to elaborate here and there, but for the most part he simply allowed Harry to tell the story.

Harry paused to take a breath and collect his thoughts, and was somewhat surprised to see that Ginny had firmly ensconced herself in Mr. Weasley's lap while Harry was talking. He managed to shake off his momentary confusion, and he was just about to reveal how he had entered the Chamber when he was interrupted by the stern voice of his Head of House. "Well, Mr. Potter, it seems you have solved a centuries-old mystery, violating nearly every school rule in the process, but how did you manage to get into the Chamber and get back out with Miss Weasley? It's rather obvious that you are _not_ the Heir of Slytherin, after all."

"I was just coming to that, Professor." For the first time he could recall, Harry saw Professor McGonagall looking like she'd made a mistake, but he wisely decided not to comment and continued his story. He explained how he and Ron had questioned Myrtle about her death and had learned where the entrance to the Chamber was. He related his opening of the Chamber and his descent with Ron into the bowels of the school. When he reached his conversation with Tom Riddle, however, he was unsure what to say, so he paused and looked quickly at Ginny. His furtive glance did not go unnoticed, but Dumbledore did nothing more than arch an eyebrow, for which Harry was immensely grateful.

"When I got close enough, I saw that the boy standing over Ginny was Tom Riddle, but there was something strange about him. He was sort of fuzzy around the edges." Harry risked another glance at Ginny and saw that she had noticeably stiffened. Something niggled in the back of his mind, telling him that she was afraid of what he might say next, but he had no idea why she might be.

"I tried to hex Tom, sir, but my spell just went right through him. I guessed I couldn't hurt him 'cause he was a memory, so I tried to burn up the diary. But that didn't work either." Harry thought that Dumbledore's eyes had shown a flash of fear, but a moment later it was gone. Half convinced that he had imagined it, Harry continued, "There was something weird about Riddle, too, like he knew I couldn't hurt the diary."

Harry looked expectantly at Dumbledore, hoping that the wise old wizard would have some rational explanation for the whole mess, but Dumbledore simply waited in patient silence. It seemed that there would be no distracting the headmaster from the crux of the story, but Harry found himself at a loss to explain the strange events that followed. He continued slowly, "Riddle said I'd surprised him too much, and he called for the Basilisk. I guess it lived under the statue 'cause I heard something coming from inside the statue when he did.

"I'm not sure what happened next. I closed my eyes and ran away from Ginny." Ginny and Mrs. Weasley gasped, and Professor McGonagall looked quite disapproving, as if she was preparing to tell him off. It occurred to Harry that running away probably sounded quite cowardly, though it had seemed the right thing to do at the time. "I think I was hoping that it would follow me instead of hurting her, but I don't really remember.

"Anyway, I heard the Basilisk hit the floor, and it was like something made me look. I just couldn't close my eyes. It was kind of like watching a car wreck, sir." In his rush to tell his story without sounding too crazy, Harry missed the looks of confusion worn by everyone else present. It never occurred to him that they were all pureblooded wizards and had probably never even heard of a car wreck, let alone seen one. An awkward silence followed, and Harry wasn't really sure how to resume his tale. After a moment, he simply continued as if nothing was wrong.

"Well, it turned and looked at me, and I was sure it was going to kill me. But it didn't... It seemed pretty confused, really. I couldn't think of any spells, but then suddenly this bright green light shot out of my wand and down the Basilisk's mouth. The next thing I knew it was dead." Harry was so consumed with telling his story that he was unaware of the sharp looks cast at him by Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore and by Mr. Weasley, and he simply continued talking.

"I don't know what happened after that. It was like my magic knew what to do, even though I didn't...I guess I sort of pulled all the magic out of the diary and I blacked out." The adults in the room all cast dubious looks at Harry. He shouldn't have been able to overcome the diary that easily, and they all knew it, but no one seemed to have the heart to interrupt Harry's story.

"When I woke up, Tom was gone and Ginny was waking up." Harry paused and felt a wave of exhaustion, followed by a fierce and inexplicable sense of protectiveness, wash over him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he knew that he was about to tell the most important lie of his young life to a man who seemed to know everything. He gathered his resolve and looked Dumbledore directly in the eye, as if daring the professor to call him a liar.

"I was pretty tired, so Ron and I got to Ginny at about the same time. She seemed okay, but once Ron gave her a hug, she didn't want to let go, so he sort of held her hand the whole way back." Ron and Ginny both looked sharply at Harry when they realized he had completely omitted Ginny's heartbroken confession, but years of avoiding punishment for pranks played on older brothers allowed them to school their features into a mask of innocence a heartbeat later. Harry was certain that Dumbledore had not seen their reaction, as his eyes remained firmly fixed on Harry's, but the stern and piercing gaze the headmaster directed his way was disconcerting nonetheless.

Strangely, Dumbledore's words did not match the shrewd look he was casting at Harry. "Very well. Minerva, please escort young Miss Weasley and her parents to the hospital wing. She has had a terrible ordeal, and I believe that a night's rest away from her classmates will do her good. Please inform Poppy that I recommend a large mug of her finest hot chocolate." Dumbledore paused to peer over his spectacles at Mrs. Weasley before adding, "Say just that."

Harry noted that the headmaster's customary twinkle had returned to his eyes. _'Must be some sort of code,'_ he guessed, _'Probably for a Calming Draught.'_ It did not occur to Harry that he'd never heard of a Calming Draught.

* * *

Ron had disappeared while Harry was considering the headmaster's odd request, as Harry found himself alone with the headmaster when he ceased his private musings. For a moment Dumbledore looked very tired before directing his knowing gaze at Harry and saying, "Mr. Potter, I am aware of some of what you've left out of your story, and I can guess that there is a good deal more that I have yet to learn. While I am certain that you must have a very good reason for your omission, I need you to tell me everything that happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Leave nothing out."

Harry remembered his promise not to tell anyone about Ginny's involvement in opening the Chamber, and he felt a pang of fear. He had no idea how to keep his promise to Ginny and still appease the headmaster, but he resolved to stumble his way to a solution. His uncertainty must have shown on his face, because Dumbledore continued in a gentler tone, "Harry, you need not worry about the consequences of divulging what you know. Perhaps it would be best if I tell you what I already know, and we can go forward from there.

"I am now aware that it was Miss Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets." Harry looked mutinously at the ageing wizard, who simply help up his hand and continued to speak, "I say that I am aware of Miss Weasley's involvement, _now_ Harry, but I did not know until you came to the end of your story." Harry felt a rush of confusion; he was certain that he'd not even hinted at Ginny's involvement, and yet the headmaster knew of it without doubt. He felt his awe of the wizened old man sitting before him grow, but if he showed any outward sign of surprise at Dumbledore's apparent omniscience, the headmaster ignored it. "If I had known of it before now, I would have of course done everything in my considerable ability to prevent today's events."

If anything, Dumbledore's explanation left Harry even more confused. Dumbledore seemed to sense that confusion and explained himself further. "While you were careful to be circumspect, your body language gives away a good deal, Harry, and your reaction just now confirmed my suspicions." Dumbledore hesitated for a bare moment before adding, "I am also aware that Lord Voldemort is the sole remaining descendent of Salazar Slytherin, and that Ginny must somehow have been under his control."

Harry, who had begun staring at his lap during Dumbledore's monologue, looked up so quickly that his neck cracked. He interrupted without considering to whom he was speaking. "Then Tom Riddle must've been the Heir of Slytherin, sir! It's the only thing that makes sense. Ginny told me Tom made her open the Chamber, so it can't have been Voldemort." Harry's breathing was shallow and his heart was beating erratically; he had no idea why the idea of Voldemort's involvement made everything seem so much more horrific than if the Heir had been some anonymous student, but his body told Harry that he much preferred the latter.

Dumbledore sighed and looked at Harry with a combination of resignation and grandfatherly concern. "Ah, Harry, Voldemort is not the former Dark Lord's real name. 'Flight of Death' is rather an absurd name for any parent to give their child, after all." Dumbledore's trademark returned, and Harry laughed aloud as he realized that Dumbledore was actually _mocking_ Voldemort. "Lord Voldemort was born Tom Marvolo Riddle, who attended Hogwarts fifty years ago, as you already know. What you do not know, and what I myself learned only years afterwards, is that while he was here, Tom Riddle fashioned a new name for himself. He apparently began using the alias 'Lord Voldemort' among his closest associates while still at school. I say 'associates' because I do not believe that Voldemort has ever had any real friends. He is quite simply incapable of the trust or the wealth of human feelings necessary to form such connections."

Harry shuddered at the idea of going through life without any friends at all. He'd come very close to such a life during the years he spent confined at the Dursleys', and he couldn't imagine anyone choosing such an experience voluntarily. To his great surprise, Harry began to feel a twinge of pity for Tom Riddle.

"I can also guess that Voldemort managed to get control of young Ginevra via Tom Riddle's diary, though the specifics elude me. I rather hope that you can fill in some of the gaps."

Dumbledore looked pointedly at Harry, who felt compelled to answer, despite his promise not to reveal Ginny's involvement. He had kept his promise not to reveal Ginny's involvement, but it seemed that Dumbledore was determined to know everything, and Harry had precious little information to give. He began to regret his 'shoot first and ask questions later' approach to problem solving. "Well Riddle was definitely controlling Ginny." Dumbledore arched an inquisitive eyebrow at Harry's certainty, causing him to sputter a bit. "Well, she told me so. Afterwards. When I'd killed Riddle. She sort of told us everything, Ron and me. Seemed a bit odd, really...I mean, she's never talked that much when I was around, you see." Harry toyed with the sleeve of his robe, which was fraying a bit, after his rather paltry explanation ground to a halt. He hadn't made a particularly eloquent case for Ginny's innocence, and he knew it.

"Yes, Harry, I do see. Unfortunately, that does not shed any particular light on the situation. Did she perhaps tell you anything about _how_ he managed to control her?"

Harry cocked his head to the side and regarded Dumbledore with confusion. "Er, well no, professor. She wouldn't really know, would she?"

Dumbledore frowned, which looked singularly unnatural on his usually jovial countenance. "No, Harry, she would not have known at the time, but I had hoped that her confession might have given you some clue, knowing what now know about the diary."

"Oh. Well, she did say that she was lonely a lot of the time. And that she tried to resist writing to Riddle, but he seemed like her only friend. She was, um, a little hurt that I didn't talk to her." Harry flushed a pale pink, remembering his failure to notice Ginny's odd behavior over the previous year. "Actually, I did see her writing in her diary an awful lot. I reckoned it was a girl thing."

"It is, Harry, at least to some extent. In fact, I suspect that Miss Weasley would have written in her diary regardless of her social situation, though her feelings of loneliness would have lent a degree of pain to her entries, and the Tom Riddle I knew would likely have thrived on such feelings.

"Now, I believe that you wrote in the diary briefly, correct?" At Harry's silent nod, Dumbledore continued, "Did you notice anything at all unusual about the experience?"

Harry laughed aloud. "Yes, professor. Books that write back to you are rather outside my experience." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly, acknowledging Harry's point, but he also gestured for Harry to continue. Sobering quickly, Harry did. "Nothing specific, sir. I mean, when Riddle told me that Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets I believed him, even though I shouldn't have. But that was just me grasping at straws."

Seeing Dumbledores thoughtful look, Harry hastily added, "I wasn't gonna go out and do his bidding or anything."

"Thank you, Harry. That will do to be going on with. It is clear to me that the diary was very dark magic, but the behavior you describe is unlike any dark artifact I have ever encountered. I shall have to consider this matter. Did Tom tell you anything else?"

"Not really, professor. When I saw Riddle down in the Chamber, I knew that he didn't belong there. If I'd known he was Voldemort, I might have been more careful, but I...well, I didn't stop to chat."

"No, I should think not. I am not surprised that his sudden appearance aroused your suspicions. It certainly would have mine, if I were in your place." Dumbledore chuckled, and Harry felt an odd kinship with the old wizard. He had never really considered the fact that Dumbledore had defeated his own dark lord, and the thought that his aging headmaster would understand what it was like to face Voldemort was an encouraging through.

"Can you tell me how you overcame him?" Dumbledore asked, gently.

"Um, not really, professor. Actually, I was hoping you could explain it to me." Harry smiled awkwardly, aware that he wasn't really giving the headmaster much to work with.

Dumbledore nodded gravely, and Harry continued slowly, as if measuring each word. "Well, I sort of skipped over what happened with the Basilisk. I, um, well I didn't want Ron and Ginny to know. Right before I killed it, it didn't just look at me. It looked right into my eyes...For a minute, I thought I was dying," he finished, speaking barely above a whisper.

Harry looked up from Dumbledore's blotter, which he had been studying assiduously since admitting his lie, to meet the aging professor's eyes. They were entirely devoid of their trademark twinkle. "I don't know why, but somehow I knew that I had a choice whether to stay or move on."

Dumbledore looked at Harry with deep respect for a moment before recovering and schooling his features into a mask of patient attention. Harry studiously ignored his headmaster's strange behavior and continued. "For a minute I wasn't sure what to do. I mean, you're meant to die when you look a Basilisk in the eyes aren't you? But I realized that I couldn't leave Ginny alone to die." Harry looked nervously at Dumbledore for a moment before asking, "Has anything like that, um, has it ever happened before?"

"No, Harry. I'm afraid that you have once again proven yourself to be quite unique." Dumbledore's voice suggested to Harry that he was no longer worried about Harry's story. In fact, Harry got the distinct impression that Dumbledore was quite proud of him. "I believe the reason you survived the Basilisk's gaze was because this particular Basilisk was also an agent of the Heir of Slytherin, and therefore Lord Voldemort. Because the attacker was not Voldemort himself, your mother's blood protection was unable to shield you completely, leaving you with a choice.

"For reasons known only to yourself, you chose to return, saving Miss Weasley's life in the process. It was the sort of rash and senseless decision I have already come to expect from you, and the thought warms my old heart. Who else but you would cheat death to save the life of a near stranger?" The sense of pride in Dumbledore's voice was palpable, as was the humor, and Harry was tempted to laugh. Dumbledore's next statement, however, broke through Harry's jubilant mood quite effectively. "Harry, I am afraid that I need to talk to you about the spell you used to kill the Basilisk."

Harry was slightly worried by Dumbledore's mercurial change of mood, and he couldn't understand how it could be quite as bad as it sounded. The spell had killed the Basilisk, after all.

"I don't know what spell it was, sir. I just wanted to kill the bloody thing." Harry looked a bit sheepish at the realization that he had just cursed in front of the most revered figure in the wizarding world. "Erm, sorry, Professor."

Dumbledore's usual good humor was entirely absent. Not a twinkle was visible in his eye as he said stonily, "Please continue, Mr. Potter."

"Well, I didn't know what to do and I was starting to panic when this green spell just sort of shot out of my wand. It was like a miracle. It sort of swelled up for a minute and then it...er...died," Harry finished, lamely.

If Harry had been a better student of human faces, he would have noticed the subtle worry lines around his professor's face relaxing, but he had not yet begun to pay attention to such details. Nevertheless, he suddenly felt more at ease without knowing why.

Dumbledore seemed to settle back into his luxurious chair. "Very well, Harry. I recognize the spell that you used. While you did not cast it deliberately, please be aware that it is extremely dangerous. Do not attempt to use it again. Now, this has all been quite interesting, and I am reassured more than you realize to know that you did not intentionally cast that particular curse, but I am uncertain what bearing it has on the matter of the diary."

Harry prepared himself to explain the curious connection between the feelings he had gotten from the Basilisk and the diary, but he was interrupted by an unexpected and quite dramatic arrival by Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy threw open the door of Professor McGonagall's office, which hit the wall with a crash and rebounded, striking his aristocratic face and bloodying his nose. Harry laughed enthusiastically at the discomfiture of his nemesis' father, and even Dumbledore seemed amused, though he was more circumspect. Harry's mirth subsided as Mr. Malfoy tapped his nose with his wand, stemming the flow of blood and erasing all evidence of his blunder.

Malfoy fixed his cold, murderous gaze on the headmaster, pretending his dramatic entrance had never happened. "So Dumbledore, I see the rumors are true. You've seen fit to return in spite of our Order of Suspension," he growled. As Mr. Malfoy stormed through the door and into the office, Harry noticed a familiar face that he had overlooked in his amusement at the elder Malfoy's less than spectacular entrance. Dobby scurried about his master's feet attempting to polish the arrogant wizard's expensive, Italian shoes while they were still attached to their owner's feet.

Harry was fascinated by the bizarre mini-drama taking place before his eyes, and he was therefore surprised to hear Dumbledore's relatively casual response to the offered provocation. Only the absence of the old wizard's trademark twinkle indicated his displeasure when he replied, "Yes, Lucius, I have returned. It seems that the other Governors had a change of heart when they learned of Miss Weasley's kidnapping, and they called me back." He paused before continuing with a hint of steel in his voice, "Strangely, several of the Governors were under the impression that you had plans to poison their families if they did not agree to suspend me in the first place."

Dumbledore looked pointedly at the elder Malfoy, who did not miss the rather explicit threat. A lesser man--or a less arrogant one--would have quailed in the face of the Supreme Mugwump's ire. Instead, Malfoy simply continued as if Dumbledore had never spoken. "Very well Albus, now that you have returned, what are you doing to locate the poor girl? Surely there are better uses of your time than cavorting with a student, no matter how famous." It was impossible to overlook Malfoy's snide disdain for the idea of actually helping Ginny, and Harry was halfway out of his seat, intending to curse Malfoy, before a quelling glance from Dumbledore caused him to sit back down.

When Harry turned his attention from Dumbledore and back to Malfoy, the unusual scene playing out before him took an even more bizarre twist. As soon as Harry was looking his way, Dobby looked significantly at Harry, then at Malfoy, and then bashed himself in the forehead with the can of boot polish he was carrying. When Harry gaped at him in confusion, Dobby repeated his actions. After a third viewing, Harry understood the message the diminutive elf was trying to convey, and he returned his attention to the discussion between the adult wizards, only to find that he had quite lost the thread of the conversation.

"...consequences would be quite unpleasant."

Malfoy's face became a mask, betraying nothing. Harry surmised that Dumbledore had issued another threat, and he wondered if the headmaster somehow knew what Harry had just learned from Dobby. He was tempted to vocalize the fact that Mr. Malfoy had been the one responsible for the diary getting into the school, but he remembered his promise not to reveal Ginny's part in the whole affair and kept silent. He did however give a miniscule nod to Dobby to indicate that he had got the message. The diminutive elf promptly stopped hitting himself in the head, looking quite grateful.

"Now, Lucius, if we have no further business I would like to resume the conversation I was having before you interrupted in your quite admirable haste to assure yourself of Miss Weasley's health." The sarcasm lacing the headmaster's comment was so subtle that Harry missed it completely, and he was horribly confused by the cross look that appeared on the elder Malfoy's face. Seeing no sign of further argument, Dumbledore briskly dismissed the sneering Governor. "Excellent. Good day to you, Lucius."

Malfoy's eyes flashed at Dumbledore's abrupt manner, but he did not argue. Instead, he spun on his heel and attempted a dignified sweep from the room. Unfortunately for him, Dobby was still standing directly behind him, where he had been since he had finished polishing Malfoy's shoes. Lucius's attempt to retain what little remained of his dignity was rather spoiled when his feet became tangled up with his house-elf, and he stumbled rather obviously. After that, all pretense of dignity was lost, and he simply left the office as quickly as possible, nearly at a run.

In his haste to escape from the humiliating situation he had landed himself in, Malfoy neglected to close the office door he had opened with such spectacular results. It was not strictly polite, but Dumbledore simply sighed and solved the problem with a wave of his wand. "Now, where were we?"

Harry grinned, and he even suspected that he might have had a twinkle in his own eyes. "Actually professor, I believe that Mr. Malfoy's left his diary behind. May I give it back to him?"

Dumbledore looked slightly amused, but he considered Harry's request gravely before waving his wand over the diary in a complex pattern that Harry didn't recognize. Seeming satisfied with the results, Dumbledore handed Harry the diary and said, "Do be quick about it, Harry." Seeming even more chuffed after the results of his mysterious test, Dumbledore continued, "I must admit to wondering what color Lucius will turn when he realizes that his cursed Dark object is now a simple Muggle day planner, and fifty years out of date at that."

Harry grinned at seeing the headmaster's trademark twinkle back in place. He hastily removed a shoe and sock before slipping the diary into the sock, which was still filthy from his escapades in the Chamber. He replaced his shoe and bolted from the office in search of the castle's lone visitor.

He finally spotted his quarry in the Entrance Hall and shouted, "Mr. Malfoy!" Lucius turned around and, spotting Harry skidding to a stop, took on a look of slight befuddlement. "I believe you forgot something," Harry continued coldly, and he shoved the sock-covered diary into Mr. Malfoy's hands. Lucius shuddered with revulsion at the filthy article that had been pressed into his well-manicured hands before pulling the sock off of the diary and throwing it aside, at which point it was snatched from the air by a small, bandaged hand. Harry didn't allow his gaze to leave Malfoy's, but he did catch a bright, elvish smile in his peripheral vision.

"And what makes you think this is mine, Potter?" Malfoy asked with a snarl.

Harry glared back and simply insisted, "We both know it is."

Lucius sneered at Harry, looking eerily like his son, before snapping, "Prove it!" He stalked toward the doors, calling for Dobby, as he punctuated his steps with anger. His shoes beat a staccato rhythm that echoed off the ancient stone walls of the entrance hall. A moment later he stopped and looked around, having just realized that his elf was no longer following him.

"Come, Dobby!"

Dobby raised Harry's filthy sock in response and said with palpable joy, "Master presents Dobby with a sock. Dobby is being free!"

Malfoy's face dropped into a rictus of fury and his hand shot into the folds of his cloak. Suddenly he was blasted through the front doors, which happened to be closed at the time, and Dobby stated in a squeaky yet firm voice, "Bad master shall not be harming Harry Potter. Bad master shall be going, now." Neither Harry nor Dobby noticed that aforementioned "Bad Master" had not obeyed Dobby's final command and was, in fact, still lying splayed out on Hogwarts' perfectly manicured lawn.

Astonished at the powerful magic at Dobby's command, Harry turned to the elf and grinned. "Thanks, Dobby. I think I needed that."

"Harry Potter sir freed Dobby, and now Harry Potter be thanking him? Harry Potter sir is great wizard! Dobby is being in Harry Potter sir's debt!"

Harry grinned. "Just try not to send any more Bludgers my way, eh, Dobby?"

Dobby twisted his ears in habitual punishment before realizing that he was free, no longer subject to such punishment, and he returned Harry's grin with a sheepish smile before popping away. Harry chuckled to himself, thinking, _'I wish I knew how he does that. It'd be dead useful.'_

When Harry returned to Professor McGonagall's office, he was elated. He had managed to free the poor, abused house-elf and maybe even gained a friend in the process. He realized, rather belatedly, that he'd probably added a new member to the Harry Potter Fan Club, but he supposed that were nothing to be done about it. _'At least Dobby isn't likely to snap photographs at inopportune moments.'_

Harry found the headmaster still sitting in Professor McGonagall's chair, just as if he had never left, but somehow the aging wizard had managed to transplant his trademark bowl of lemon drops from the headmaster's Office to Professor McGonagall's desk. As he was offered a candy from Dumbledore's stash, Harry briefly wondered what had become of his Transfiguration professor, since they had been in her office for quite a while. That thought evaporated alongside Harry's good mood when he realized that he still had several strange events to discuss with the headmaster.

"Now Harry, since we have disposed of Mr. Malfoy, I believe you were about to tell me how your extraordinary experience with the Basilisk is related to your defeat of the diary. I do hope it is a thrilling and satisfying tale, as I doubt we will be seeing the diary any time soon."

Harry gulped. He hadn't thought of that. "Well sir, after the Basilisk died I felt something change. I'd felt ill ever since we got down there, but I didn't really think about it cause my stomach was in knots from the trip down the pipe. When the Basilisk died the feeling just sort of went away, and that's when I noticed."

Harry paused, collecting his thoughts and trying to figure out some way of describing what had happened next. Dumbledore simply sat serenely and waited. "It was like I was _feeling_ the Basilisk." Harry looked at Dumbledore's expectant face, but he had no idea how to explain experiencing the essence of the Basilisk, which rather defied description. "I'm not sure why I didn't notice until it was gone. Maybe I just wasn't thinking about it. I still felt _something_, but it was different. I still felt sick, but there was something else. Like death. That's when I saw some sort of red light around Riddle, but there was black oozing around in it, kinda like motor oil."

It didn't occur to Harry that Dumbledore might've had no idea what motor oil even was, let alone what it looked liked, but Dumbledore's potential ignorance of the Muggle world didn't appear to impede the conversation. "I believe that you were in fact seeing and feeling Tom's aura. I suspect that the black parts you saw were a representation of the evil that had already began invading Tom's soul, even at the tender age of sixteen. I will think on this matter further, but for now, please continue your story."

"Well, I'm not really sure what happened next, sir. All I knew was that I was seeing some sort of weird lights around Riddle. The black streaks looked diseased, and I was sure that the lights and the feeling in my stomach were connected. I don't know why. Guess I was right," Harry continued sheepishly. "I'm not sure what I did next. I just tried to grab Riddle and pull him out of the diary. It worked."

Harry noticed Dumbledore's look of alarm, but he could do nothing but press on. "When I did, it felt like my scar was going to explore, and I think I passed out." Harry omitted his episode of vomiting; he had no desire to inform the headmaster that he'd lost control of his bodily functions. It would have been mortifying.

Dumbledore's look of alarm was replaced by both consternation and comprehension, and he asked, "Did Tom perhaps do anything unusual once you had grabbed the magic of the diary, Harry?"

"Well, he yelled and disappeared, if that's what you mean." Harry paused for a moment before adding, almost as an afterthought, "I think I was trying to kill Tom when I grabbed at the diary's magic. I just didn't know it."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. It seems that this particular battle has been decided, and I doubt that it would be wise to attempt to unseat Voldemort from the ground he has gained." Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. He was certain that he had defeated Riddle, but he'd had enough experience with the enigmatic old man's riddles the previous year that he knew not to question the headmaster further. "Thank you, Harry. You have satisfied my curiosity. If there is nothing else, I believe I will ask the house-elves to begin preparing a feast to celebrate your successful defeat of the Heir of Slytherin and your recovery of Miss Weasley."

Harry almost took his leave, but then he remembered one final mystery, one which he'd been completely unable to penetrate. "Actually professor..." Dumbledore looked expectantly at Harry, which Harry took to mean permission to continue. "Right before we left the Chamber to come back to school, three broomsticks just sort of appeared out of the pipe, and one of them was mine. Ron thought I'd done it, but I don't remember doing any magic."

Dumbledore's usual expression of grandfatherly mirth was replaced by concern. He reached for his wand, and Harry very nearly drew his own in an attempt to curse the headmaster, but Dumbledore's voice caught Harry's attention just in time.

"Harry, this is very worrisome news. I would like to look into your mind and see what if anything is amiss. I assure you that the spell will not hurt, though you may find the sensation a bit disconcerting. The process will be easier if you can relax."

Harry was only mildly surprised that Dumbledore, who seemed nearly omnipotent, could look into someone's mind. It did explain the professor's apparent ability to know everything that went on around him, after all. Nevertheless, he found that he was distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of Dumbledore poking around in his mind. Harry suspected that the headmaster would get what he wanted whether Harry was comfortable with it or not, however, so he chose to cooperate.

Dumbledore pointed his wand at Harry and said softly, "_Legilimens_." Harry felt a strange tickling in his mind and his memories of the day began to flood past his mind's eye. Nothing surprised him at first, though Professor Dumbledore did find some things that Harry would have preferred to keep hidden. His characterization of Professor Lockhart as a useless git and his argument with Ron featured prominently among these, but for a time everything appeared to go smoothly.

Harry was therefore shocked when, instead of seeing himself vomit and pass out after defeating the diary, strange, disjointed memories began flickering across his mental landscape. They mysterious memories appeared to be almost completely random. Dumbledore delved through several years of memories before the flow began to organize itself into topics. Harry got a picture of life in an orphanage, which he knew was impossible. He tried to combat his rising panic, as he was certain that these memories should not be in his head, but Dumbledore had already put the pieces together and had no need to see anything further. The flow jumped to Harry's genuine memories and his attempt exit the Chamber of Secrets.

The progression of memory slowed, and it seemed to Harry that Dumbledore was attempting to examine every detail of the events that followed. At the time that Harry remembered being submerged in his own panic, the scene appeared to split. The "real Harry" stood immobile while a "copy Harry" pulled out his wand and cast an unfamiliar spell. Harry had no idea what the _Accio_ spell was meant to do, but he realized that it must have been related to the unexpected arrival of the broomsticks.

Dumbledore appeared to reach the same conclusion, because the sequence of memory stopped abruptly and Harry came to himself. It took him a moment to realize that Dumbledore had placed his wand on Professor McGonagall's desk and was looking grave. "I am afraid, Harry, that you have accidentally performed a great feat of magic. It seems that, in your haste to help Miss Weasley, you absorbed the copy of Tom Riddle that he placed in his diary.

"When you elected to pull the magic out of the diary directly, you forced it to find somewhere else to go. Had you destroyed the diary in a more conventional manner, the magic Tom used to bind the copy of himself in the diary would simply have dissipated into nature, from which it ultimately came. Instead, you forced the magic to seek another container--you."

Harry gasped in horror at the prospect of housing the diseased magic from the diary in his body, and Dumbledore continued, "Yes, Harry, I see that you understand. While I agree that housing the magic of Tom Riddle in my body would be an unpleasant prospect, your own magic will eventually adjust what you have absorbed to match your own exemplary character. Seeing that the anxious look remained on Harrys face, Dumbledore went on, seeming inexplicably amused, It may also help to know that the only other container available was Miss Weasley, and I doubt that you would want to subject her to something like this."

Harry blinked at Dumbledore, dumbstruck. He hadn't even considered the possibility that the magic would have gone to Ginny if he had somehow managed to avoid absorbing it, and he could barely summon the will to shake his head. If anything, Dumbledore's amusement seemed to grow, and Harry began to feel offended.

"No? I thought not," Dumbledore continued. "We are in uncharted waters, Harry. I can only guess at exactly what has changed, though my guesses are generally more accurate than most men's certainties." Dumbledore chuckled at his little joke before seeming to realize that Harry was in no mood for levity. He sighed and continued, "I expect that you will experience a minor boost in your magical strength from absorbing the magic contained in the diary. The change will be so small that if it were the only one you will experience, I doubt whether you ever notice. However, I am afraid that you also experienced another, far more serious, consequence."

Harry's growing concern nearly caused him to interrupt again, when Professor McGonagall, who had apparently reached the end of her tolerance to exile from her own office, burst through the door looking decidedly put out. Harry turned to face her, in the process of drawing his wand, but Dumbledore simply looked on expectantly. Harry realized that Dumbledore did not appear nearly alarmed as he felt, and a moment later he noticed that he was pointing his wand not at some unexpected threat, but at his Head of House.

"Mr. Potter! Put your wand away this instant! Never in all my years..." Harry noticed that Professor McGonagall's brogue was showing, and he guessed that she was even more surprised than he was. He flushed and grinned sheepishly at Professor McGonagall before pocketing his wand.

"Sorry, professor."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you would like to explain to me why you felt the need to brandish your wand at me in my own office?" She glared archly at Harry, nonverbally threatening him with a lifetime of regret if his explanation was not an extremely good one.

"Er..." Harry realized that he had no particularly good explanation except his own surprise, and he glanced at Professor Dumbledore for help. Harry took one look at Dumbledore's face and decided that he was not likely to get any help from that particular corner. In fact, Harry suspected that Dumbledore was struggling to contain a deep belly laugh, and Harry once again heard a suspicious warbling coming from Fawkes.

Despite his evident amusement, Dumbledore spoke calmly and with tremendous control, "Perhaps, Minerva, we might assume that Mr. Potter has had a difficult day and should be allowed a bit of leeway. He did recently save the world, as I recall."

McGonagall sniffed disdainfully, as if considering exactly how much additional homework she could set before her students rebelled, but Dumbledore took her silence for acquiescence. "Thank you, Minerva. Since you are here, I wonder if I might prevail upon you for a small favor." Following her silent lack of dissent, he continued, "Please inform the Head Elf that I wish to hold an impromptu feast this evening at ten o'clock in celebration of Mr. Potter's successful rescue of Miss Weasley."

She nodded once, stiffly, and prepared to leave, but Dumbledore stopped her. "Once you have spoken with Tinky, please inform Poppy and Mr. Potter's professors that he will need to be confined in a private room in the hospital wing for an indeterminate period of time. He may require a week or more."

Harry, who was confused and slightly angry at Professor Dumbledore for asking Professor McGonagall to arrange Harry's confinement in the hospital wing without bothering to tell him about it first, ceased his nervous regard of Professor McGonagall to glare at the headmaster. As a result, he missed Professor McGonagall's slightly befuddled expression as she was efficiently dismissed from her own office. He did, however, hear her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, "Meddlesome old goat," in the thick Scottish brogue she assumed when truly riled.

Dumbledore, who seemed to be impervious to Harry's ire, regarded his charge silently before explaining himself. "Harry, I apologize for informing you of your quarantine in that manner. I thought it best to set things in motion while I explain to you exactly what has happened."

Harry's glare relaxed slightly, but he continued to direct an angry look at the headmaster. Dumbledore simply continued his explanation, as if he were oblivious to Harry's displeasure. "When you absorbed the magic of the diary, as we have discussed, you also absorbed the memories bound to it.

"Perhaps you noticed the unfamiliar events I encountered during my perusal of your mind?" Harry nodded dumbly, and Dumbledore continued, "Excellent. I had worried that I might have been proceeding too quickly for you to register what I was seeing.

"It appears that you absorbed _all_ of Tom's memories, both conscious and subconscious, from his birth until the moment that he cast the spell to create the diary. As I am sure you are aware, Tom was already quite Dark by the time he was sixteen. In fact, he was on the path to becoming Lord Voldemort even before I met him prior to his first year to explain his acceptance to Hogwarts."

Harry's mind ground to a halt, unprepared to deal with the shock of finding that an eleven-year-old was capable of deliberate acts of evil. He was unable to formulate his numerous questions before Dumbledore continued, "No one is born evil, Harry. I suspect that Tom Riddle's desire for power and control, which ultimately set him on the path to your parents' cottage, was caused by his experiences as a boy in that Muggle orphanage. Regardless of what incited his evil, however, the memories you carry are quite dangerous."

"How can it be dangerous, professor? I mean, I don't even remember anything."

Dumbledore sighed. Harry didn't know it, but the kind of casual disregard he exhibited toward Riddle's memories was the most dangerous possible approach one could take toward Tom Riddle. "Harry, Tom's knowledge is currently confined to your subconscious, where it was deposited. However, your subconscious can sometimes overlap with your conscious mind, or even supersede it. This happens when you dream, and I am certain that it happened when you began to fear that you would be trapped in the Chamber of Secrets, allowing you to cast a Summoning Charm.

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses and allowed Harry to assimilate this news, before dropping his bombshell. "Eventually the memories currently stored in your subconscious will leak into your conscious mind. They will do so piecemeal, and you will have neither control of the process nor understanding of the memories that you experience. I have no doubt that, if we allow the process to proceed naturally, the trauma associated with absorbing Tom's memories will eventually drive you Dark."

Harry stood reflexively, causing the chair he was sitting in to topple over with a crash. He didn't even notice, so absorbed was he by his horror at the prospect of turning Dark. "But I'd never turn Dark! I...I mean, there must be something you can do! Right?"

"Alas, Harry, there is nothing. Even if I were to _Obliviate_ you, it would merely wall off Tom's memories. It would delay the process, but Tom's mind was quite strong, and he would eventually overcome the block. The final result would be the same."

Harry felt his heart begin to flutter in panic, but Dumbledore's voice cut through his agitation. "Harry! Do try to remain calm. While I am unable to do anything directly to correct this problem, there is something that I can teach _you_ to do." Harry relaxed slightly at the prospect of being able to do something to save himself, and his heartbeat slowed, but he made no move to right his chair or sit down again. Instead, his eyes narrowed in complete concentration, and he looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

"The spell I used earlier to examine your memories is called the _Legilimens_ spell, and the discipline practiced to use it is called Legilimency. You have already experienced its effects, so I will simply explain that the spell allows a witch or wizard to push into another's mind and follow the threads connecting the target's memories." Harry had no idea how the ability to look into someone else's mind might be useful in combating the effects of Riddle's memories, but he attempted to listen to the headmaster's explanation.

"Your mind appears to be organized chronologically, which is excellent for remembering events but makes it difficult to grasp abstract topics..."

As Dumbledore drifted into lecture mode, Harrys mind drifted away from the conversation, and he watched absently as Fawkes preened his feathers. Noticing Harry's inattention, Dumbledore sighed. "I apologize for appearing to digress, Harry, but it is important that you understand this topic. Harry nodded and forced his concentration back to Dumbledores words.

"There is a discipline called Occlumency," the old professor was saying, "which allows a practitioner to defend his mind from attack by Legilimency. The first step in Occlumency is to gain complete awareness of every corner of one's mind. Coincidentally, that is precisely what you need to accomplish. I would like you to re-organize your mind topically, which will give you a better understanding of all of your memories. It will also create the awareness of your mind which would form the basis of Occlumency, were you to attempt to learn it."

Confusion was quickly replacing Harrys boredom as he tried to follow Dumbledore's logic. _'Surely having all of Tom's memories at once will be much worse than getting them one at a time.'_

Dumbledore quickly countered Harry's misgivings, almost as if he had been aware of them, which Harry supposed he probably was. "Once you become consciously aware of the memories you have gained from Tom Riddle, your mind will be able to recognize that the events of Tom's life did not happen to you. In all probability, the things that you 'remember' will sicken and horrify you, but the knowledge that the memories belong to Tom will allow you to insulate yourself somewhat, and you will be able to access Tom's knowledge without the visceral reaction you would have if the memories were your own."

Harry eyed Dumbledore skeptically, still quite dubious about the prospect of having Voldemort's memories floating about in his head.

"Today's events, while unfortunate, will give you a rather unique perspective on Lord Voldemort, which may eventually provide you with a tremendous advantage. Knowing Riddle as intimately as you will, you may be able to predict how he will react in given situation. You will certainly be able to anticipate how Tom Riddle, age sixteen, would have reacted, but this might at times differ from how Lord Voldemort, with the benefit of decades more experience, would behave.

Harry heard the unspoken addendum that Voldemort would likely be even more cruel and dispassionate, and he was privately grateful that he'd gotten Riddle's memories at sixteen instead of thirty. Still, he refused to believe that understanding a monster like Voldemort could actually be _useful_, and he interrupted the headmaster's burgeoning tangent. "Excuse me, professor, but you mentioned that I'd need to re-organize my mind. How am I to do that? And how am I going to get to Tom's memories without feeling sick when I see them?"

"Ah, those both are excellent questions, Harry. I shall teach you two mental techniques before I send you to visit Madame Pomfrey. The first is a Muggle meditation technique, which will allow you to overlap your conscious and subconscious minds but still remain in control. The second technique that I will teach you is also a Muggle concept called a memory palace. It will allow you to organize your memories and knowledge into specific patterns that you will choose."

It seemed that Dumbledore's lengthy explanation of the day's events had finally wound down, and Harry found himself wishing he could simply go to sleep. Instead, Dumbledore flicked his wand, conjuring a surprisingly-comfortable wooden chair for Harry and a squashy leather armchair for himself. With a complex wand movement, which Harry tried and failed to follow, Dumbledore dimmed all of the lamps in the room and conjured a single candle, already lit, on the desk directly in front of Harry.

"Now Harry, unless you have any further questions, please direct your attention to this candle. I want you to focus your mind on the flame to the exclusion of all else."

* * *

Three hours later, Harry was mentally and physically exhausted. He had mastered the rudiments of meditation sufficiently to satisfy Dumbledore, and he had begun the process of building his "memory palace," but the process was incredibly draining. At the moment, Harry's mental landscape resembled a memory hut more than anything else, but Dumbledore seemed quite pleased. Harry had, in fact, mastered the subjects far more quickly than he should have done, though he had no of that at the time. Once Dumbledore had released him, Harry dragged his exhausted body from Professor McGonagall's office to the hospital wing with a note from Dumbledore, which instructed Madame Pomfrey to supply him with a half-dose of Dreamless Sleeping Draught. He was looking forward to a long and restful sleep, which he would, unfortunately, not get.

* * *

A/N: The idea for this story came to me with a few plot elements already in place. The first was Harry's absorption of Tom's knowledge via the diary, and the second was the prophesy. With those ideas in place, I asked myself what could have led up to them, which spawned to the Prologue, and what should follow, which leads to everything else. I built the prophesy by combining the structures of Trelawney's prophesy from OoTP and the prophesy of Malbeth the Seer. The first reader who correctly recognizes that name gets a digital cookie.

Anyway, Harry and Dumbledore don't discuss the prophesy during their meeting for two reasons. First, Harry forgot to mention it after the long and exhausting discussion they've already had, and Dumbledore obviously doesn't know about it. Dumbledore will find out about the prophesy off-screen in the next day or two.

This chapter has turned out to be long and slightly dry. The high points of Harry and Dumbledore's extensive conversation were necessary to explain the events that took place in the previous chapter, which more than one person have asked about in reviews, and its length developed from two needs, the need for a bit of comic relief here and there and need to make the dialog sound at least slightly natural. Fortunately it's much easier to make even the most obscure topics seem natural coming from Dumbledore, and you may have noticed that Harry's basically along for the ride by the end.

Finally, a note about the memory palace: it's a real concept which dates back at least as far as the ancient Greeks. Several of Cicero's extant works on rhetoric discuss memory palaces at great length. I've abused the concept rather thoroughly, as it is not intended to organize one's entire mind, which would be a truly massive undertaking. It's actually meant to help speakers remember the elements of a prepared speech. This particular abuse of history was not my idea; I borrowed it from _Hannibal_ by Thomas Harris for the sake of convenience. I don't plan for Harry's memory palace to play any significant role in the story other than tangentially via references to good retention and quick recall. In fact, I'll be surprised if I write the words "memory palace" after Chapter 3, which is already in the can. 


	4. Consequences

**Chapter 3: Consequences**

Harry crept along the deserted stone hallways, stalking his quarry. Bill had threatened him, and no one got away with that. Harry was determined to even the score, and he wasn't particular about how he did it. He would speak to little Virginia whenever he chose, and no older brother was going to interfere. A sly grin spread across his face as he had a wonderful, vicious idea. Bill was awfully fond of that rabbit of his. Perhaps if something unfortunate were to happen to it...

* * *

A few moments later, Harry's eyes cleared and he shook his head in disgust. Tom Riddle was a vicious, cruel child long before he was a budding Dark Lord. He sighed and filed away the memory of a young Tom hanging Billy Stubbs' rabbit from the rafters alongside the all-too-numerous memories from Tom's cesspool of a childhood. _'God, I wish I didn't have to do this. Maybe if I asked Dumbledore...'_.

That line of thinking was futile, and Harry knew it. The headmaster had been quite insistent that Harry go through this process. He preferred not to revisit Tom's violent youth, but he also had no particular desire to lose himself in the sea of the young Voldemort's hatred.

* * *

Four days later, Harry emerged from the last memory in the diary with a shudder of revulsion. Tom's murder of his father had been surprisingly cold, but the way he tortured and toyed with the entire family before slaughtering Tom Riddle Sr. in front of them was appalling. It left Harry longing for a very long, very hot shower, but even more horrifying was what he had learned about the nature of the diary.

He'd already known that the fifth-year Tom Riddle was utterly ruthless, but Harry had never guessed that the teenage Voldemort was already delving into the blackest of the Dark Arts. He was even more concerned about the plans that had not yet come to fruition when the diary was created. As far as Harry could tell, Tom had never determined whether a soul could be split more than once, and he had no idea of the possible consequences. The nascent Dark Lord had worried that he wouldn't survive the process, so Harry wasn't convinced he would have tried to make a second Horcrux, but the possibility couldn't be ignored.

* * *

Harry paced to and fro across the narrow confines of his private suite. He had spent several fruitless hours debating whether to tell Dumbledore about the fragment of Voldemort's soul formerly housed in the diary, which Harry suspected now resided in him. When the sun began to set, he knew he could delay no longer, and he asked Madam Pomfrey to summon the headmaster. The aged wizard still hadn't arrived, but the extra time hadn't allowed Harry to make a decision. The only idea he had come up with was to say nothing for the moment and buy himself more time to think, but he was concerned that the Headmaster might discern the secret in his memory. Harry had always found that physical activity helped him calm his mind, but in this case his pacing only barely managed to keep himself from unraveling.

Far too soon for Harry's comfort, a sharp rap heralded Professor Dumbledore's arrival. Harry took a moment to compose himself, the emotion of the moment once again getting the better of him, and he was about to answer when Dumbledore burst through the door looking decidedly worried.

"Harry! Is everything alright? Why didn't you answer the door?" The concern in the headmaster's voice was audible, and Harry couldn't resist feeling a pang of guilt for causing it.

He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Professor. I was just...I was remembering what happened to my mum." It was untrue, of course, and for a brief instant Harry was sure he would be discovered immediately, but the Headmaster nodded gravely and sat in Harry's single, wooden chair.

"I am sorry, Harry. I never expected you to dredge of memories of so long ago, or I would have tried to prepare you better."

Harry immediately understood why Dumbledore had believed the lie. His task deliberately dredged up all of his unpleasant memories, and any discomfort Harry felt at lying would likely be dismissed as the result of his mental exertions. "I'm alright, sir. It's nice to remember them a little, even if the memories are bad," Harry responded. That part, at least, was true. He'd recovered several pleasant memories from his early childhood, including giggling while riding around his parents' living room on the back of a large black dog. Unfortunately, he also had far less pleasant memories of the night Voldemort had finally located his family and murdered his parents.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his eyes far away for a moment. "It is indeed, Harry. It is indeed." Dumbledore blinked and appeared to compose himself before continuing, "With your permission, I should like to have a look through your mind." Harry's breath caught in his throat, but he hid his worry and he nodded. He looked into the Headmasters brilliant blue eyes. Knowing what to expect, Harry was unsurprised when Dumbledore drew his wand and whispered, _"Legilimens."_ He immediately felt a foreign sensation in his mind. Turning inward, he was surprised to see a far younger Albus Dumbledore, his beard and hair colored a deep auburn, walking up the path leading to the front gate of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore leisurely explored Harry's mental landscape. Harry watched as he appeared to wander aimlessly, his path taking him steadily nearer Gryffindor tower. He smirked when Dumbledore walked through the portal leading to the common room without even noticing the portrait of a nondescript blond man with a carefully-trimmed mustache and a careworn face that Harry had placed directly across the hall from the Fat Lady.

As Harry was mentally congratulating himself, Dumbledore touched a wizarding photograph that Harry had placed on the mantelpiece, and they were instantly immersed in Harry's memory of his first Christmas at Hogwarts.

_"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger that Harry's..._

* * *

When Dumbledore finally extracted himself from Harry's mind some time later, he nodded approvingly. "You have done an excellent job, Harry." Harry smiled, but his expression dimmed a moment later when Dumbledore peered at him over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "I am surprised, however, that I saw no sign of Tom Riddle. What have you done with his memories?"

Dumbledore's suspicious glance told Harry all he needed to know of the Headmaster's worry. The young Gryffindor laughed, partly in amusement and partly in relief, before answering. "Actually, you did, sir. I've never been able to stay awake in History of Magic, so most of the History lessons you saw were from Tom." He flushed for a moment at his admission, but continued, "I didn't know Professor Binns had been around that long."

"Indeed he has, Harry. He even instructed me in my youth, although he was still alive at the time. I must ask, however, what you have done with Tom's...ahem...extracurricular activities."

"Oh, um, I put those in the Slytherin Common Room, just like mine are in Gryffindor."

Dumbledore looked suitably impressed but also slightly annoyed. "Indeed? And when have you seen the Slytherin Common Room, Harry? I believe that the locations of the four Common Rooms are a carefully guarded secret of each house." Dumbledore gave Harry a conspiratorial glance, his brilliant, blue eyes twinkling, before adding, "I myself was never able to gain access or even confirm the location of the entrance."

Harry gave Dumbledore a secretive smile but said nothing. He had guarded the memory of his experiments with Polyjuice Potion quite carefully, as he had no wish to get Hermione or Ron into trouble. "I've got to have some secrets, Professor. Otherwise, what fun would it be catching me out?"

The ends of Dumbledore's beard twitched, but he gave no other sign of the amusement Harry was certain he felt. "Very well, Harry. However, I feel that I must deduct twenty-five points from Gryffindor for violating the sanctity of another house." The headmaster gazed pointedly at Harry for a moment, emphasizing that he was in fact chastising his pupil, before continuing, "While my mind is on the subject, I believe I neglected to award points to you and Mr. Weasley the other evening. One hundred fifty points apiece for your successful rescue of Miss Weasley should do nicely." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes told Harry that the Headmaster was perfectly aware that he had just guaranteed Gryffindor the House Cup for the second year running.

"I am tempted to present you with a Special Award for Services to the School, but I am afraid that the details of your adventures in the Chamber must remain a closely-guarded secret."

The headmaster's expression quickly grew grave, however, and he raised an uncomfortable subject. "We both know that Voldemort is not dead, Harry. It is very likely, perhaps even inevitable, that he will come looking for you." Harry nodded, and the headmaster continued, "We must keep some secrets from Voldemort, Harry. He must not know how capable you have become.

"Before I release you from Madam Pomfrey's care, I would like to discuss an unexpected development. Were you aware that the message left by the Heir of Slytherin outside the second floor girls' lavatory has recently undergone something of a transformation?"

Harry goggled at Dumbledore. In his exhaustion during their previous conversation, Harry had forgotten the prophecy entirely. He answered slowly, uncertain that he wanted to hear what Dumbledore intended to tell him. "Yes, Professor. We noticed it coming out of the loo after we left the Chamber." Harry paused for a moment, considering how to phrase his next revelation, but ultimately he knew that the Headmaster needed to know, "And I saw a kind of glow coming from that wall when Ron and I went down into the Chamber."

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly. "I see. And what was happening when you saw this glow?"

"We were walking past, of course." Harry's abrupt response pushed the boundaries of courtesy, but Dumbledore did not comment.

"In that case, I am able only to speculate on the contents of the prophecy--"

"Wait! It really was a prophecy?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes, Harry, I'm afraid it was." When Harry did not interrupt further, but merely nodded resignedly, Dumbledore continued. "I believe that at least part of the prophecy referred to the events that were to take place in the Chamber of Secrets."

"Sir?"

"The message states that 'Love shall shield him.' If it had predated one or both of your previous encounters with Voldemort, it could refer to either of those incidents. However, the prophecy is quite recent, and it clearly refers to events that will take place in the future. I suspect it meant your mother's blood protection shielding you from the full impact of the Basilisk's gaze."

"I don't understand, sir. How could anyone know that my mum's love would save me in the Chamber?" Dumbledore seemed vaguely amused at Harry's question, but Harry did not understand why. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable question. Even his augmented knowledge was no match for Dumbledore's, however, so he looked expectantly at the Headmaster.

"My apologies, Harry," Dumbledore began, "I had forgotten that young Mr. Riddle never took Divination, and that you therefore have no knowledge of prophecy.

"I am by no means an expert, so I was required to do some research, but I am now reasonably certain that the message left outside the second floor bathroom is a true prophecy." Harry's confusion did not abate, and Dumbledore clarified. "Harry, almost anyone can learn to perform Divination to some degree. Numerous arts exist to allow ordinary witches and wizards to predict the future, but there are also a few gifted individuals with the ability to truly See. These Seers are essentially channels for information from elsewhere."

Harry's eyes clouded over at the notion that knowledge might come from nowhere, but Dumbledore took no notice. "Prophecy is magic at its deepest, its most profound. No one is entirely certain of its nature. It seems to be without any particular sense of good and evil, and no one had ever been able to discern a pattern among the known prophecies. There is, however, a simple test to determine whether a given prophecy is genuine. This one is."

"What does that mean, sir?"

"I cannot say, Harry. The full import of prophecies is seldom clear until the events in question have come to pass." Harry cast a frustrated look at Dumbledore. _'What good are the bloody things if no one understands them until afterwards?'_ he wondered.

Dumbledore shook his head at the impatience of youth and continued, "A few things are certain. First, the prophecy refers to a Champion of the Light, who will show several characteristics. The Champion will be male, which is specified only subtly but is nevertheless quite clear; second, he will be protected by love and use his anger as a weapon. Finally, he will 'plumb the depths of the darkness,' which is so vague as to be nearly useless."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, mouth agape and eyes wide until he looked more like a character from Dudley's cartoons than a real person. "Professor, are you saying the Champion of the Light is _me_?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "While that is the most obvious conclusion, it is far from certain. You satisfy some of the prophecy's criteria, but not all. For example, I am unaware that you have had occasion to wield your magic in anger, either while fighting Tom or the Basilisk. Did you happen to overlook something of that nature in your tale?"

Harry sagged with relief and smiled broadly. _'It's not me!'_ He continued aloud, "No, sir. I'm angry _now_ of course, after I've had time to think about what happened, but I didn't find out how much Riddle had done to Ginny until afterward. At the time, I was pretty much just terrified."

Dumbledore smiled proudly and nodded, but he did not appear to share Harry's optimism. "Then we cannot yet say whether you are this Champion. However, I must warn you that events thus far point in that direction." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled a bit at his reference to Harry's heroic tendencies. "I am sorry to say, however, that it seems quite certain that a time of great Darkness is again approaching. We will likely all be in grave danger, and I suspect that you will be in the most dangerous position of all, regardless of whether you are the Champion the prophecy speaks of."

Some deep-seated part of Harry knew that he _was_ the one referred to by the prophecy, and that same part knew that he had already taken the first steps on the long and difficult road to his destiny. Nevertheless, Harry reveled in the relief and freedom that Dumbledore's uncertainty offered. He had no idea how he could bear the mantle of The Champion, and he was determined not to accept it until it was absolutely certain that the job was his and his alone.

Dumbledore nodded despite the fact that Harry hadn't voiced his concern, and Harry was reminded that the professor had the power to look into his mind. The idea worried him slightly, but he trusted Dumbledore and tried not to let it bother him.

Harry looked at Dumbledore expectantly, waiting for the old man to pat him on the shoulder and return to the running of the school, but it seemed that the headmaster had other plans. "While I am here, Harry, I believe we should discuss your course selection for next year..."

* * *

Harry awoke just after sunrise the next morning, having acceded to Dumbledore's demand that he take a full night's rest in the hospital wing. He rolled out of bed and stretched, relishing the popping sensation that ran down his spine and the stretching of his growing muscles. He decided that after Dumbledore basically discharged him the previous afternoon, there was no reason that he couldn't simply walk out of the hospital wing. He doubted whether Madam Pomfrey would approve, but he had never enjoyed being forcibly confined to the hospital wing, and he decided a small measure of revenge was in order. He left a terse note on his pillow and stole out of the hospital in the early-morning light streaming through the castle's large windows from the rising sun.

Checking his Muggle watch, Harry realized that he was still nearly thirty minutes early for breakfast. He settled into his favorite armchair near the fireplace, which the older students tended to leave free for him in a curious gesture of respect, and began reviewing Riddle's Potions memories. He and Dumbledore had agreed that Harry could try to test into the O.W.L. Potions class, and he needed to sort through the material in his head so he didn't need to go searching for it during the exam.

Twenty-five minutes later, Harry had made fairly good progress when Hermione, who had clearly just arisen, came down the stairs, squeaked, and immediately grabbed him into a fierce hug. Once she released her embrace, however, Harry was surprised when she began to scold him.

"Harry James Potter! Where on earth have you been?" Her voice was unstable, and Harry was distinctly worried about his ability to deal with an emotional girl so early in the morning. "We've been so worried!"

"I was in hospital. I only just got the all-clear." It was a bit of a prevarication, but there was no reason that Hermione needed to know that it had taken him the better part of a day to sleep off his mental exertions.

"No, you weren't, Harry! We went looking for you and you were nowhere to be found! Madam Pomfrey wouldn't say anything, and Professor McGonagall told us that you were safe and we weren't to bother you." Harry was so impressed by her ability to say so much without appearing to breathe that he neglected to interrupt her rant before she really got going. "Ginny's been going out of her mind! She was convinced that you were dying and it was all her fault, and we couldn't talk her out of it! Mind you, there really wasn't much to go on, and it-"

"Hermione!" Exasperated, Harry finally managed to interrupt, but the expression of amusement on his face angered Hermione further, and she crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Yes?"

"Erm..." Harry was temporarily at a loss for anything he could tell his friend without violating Dumbledore's instructions to conceal the events of the Chamber, but he eventually remembered his academic plans. "Well, there was a bit of a magical accident in the Chamber. It took them a while to get everything sorted, and I was in a private room. But really,--"

Hermione paled visibly at that announcement. "Oh, Harry! They only use the private rooms for really awful magical illnesses! What happened?"

Harry was becoming exasperated, and he knew that Hermione would try to ferret out every detail if he didn't distract her. "I really don't know Hermione, but I'm fine now." He saw that she was about to interrupt again, but he cut her off, "But I really need to talk to you about is my History O.W.L."

She brightened immediately. "That's fantastic, Harry! I'm so pleased that you're thinking ahead. You've always been a bit lazy about these things."

Harry knew she was right. Even his interest in Muggle history hadn't helped him stay awake in Binns's class, but he still wasn't thrilled by the blunt way Hermione had pointed it out. Hermione, however, was too enthusiastic to notice Harry's discomfort. "I've drawn up a study schedule for the next three years for all our O.W.L.s. You're a bit behind, but if you can squeeze in the goblin rebellions and troll wars from 1170 to 1418 over the summer, I think I can help you get back on track in September. Now, where did I put--"

"Hermione!" It occurred to Harry that he seemed to be interrupting Hermione far more often than usual. He assumed that he'd just never noticed her tendency to jump to conclusions, but he was quickly becoming irritated. Her stern glare suggested she wasn't particularly pleased with him either, but he resolutely continued. "That's fantastic, Hermione. Maybe you can get Ron to use your schedule, but I'm taking the exam in two weeks. A summer study schedule isn't-"

Hermione's arms fell to her sides and all the parchments in her hands dropped from her nerveless fingers. She looked at him, aghast, before launching into a desperate speech. "But Harry, there's no way you can possibly be ready by then! I could maybe manage an 'A' by then, and I'm over a year ahead of you. Your study habits are better than Ron's, thank god, but what you want just isn't possible. You're not smart enough to cram that much material into two weeks."

Harry felt like she'd slapped him. As far as Hermione was concerned, 'not smart' was the worst possible thing one could be. He knew he wasn't as clever as his friend, and his study habits weren't perfect, but his marks were decent enough. He'd never dreamed that his friend would throw his shortcomings in his face like she had. Hermione, however, was already on her way toward the portrait hole.

"Excuse me. I need to see Professor McGonagall right away." After uttering that cryptic statement, Hermione disappeared so quickly that an observer might have wondered if she had an invisibility cloak. Harry sighed and slumped back into his armchair. He didn't notice the handful of students, mostly fifth- and seventh-years, passing through the Common Room on their way to an early breakfast. Nor did he hear the curious muttering coming from those same students, though if he had, it would not have surprised him to hear his fellow Gryffindors speculating about the apparent rift in the famous trio.

Instead, he sat with his head in his hands and thought about the strange experience he'd just had. He hadn't told her any of his important secrets. She didn't know about Tom, and she didn't know about the prophecy. He hadn't managed to explain his new knowledge, but he didn't think that could be the problem. Hermione definitely seemed angry with him, not just worried about his grades, but no matter how many times he replayed the conversation in his head, Harry couldn't figure out what had gone wrong.

He worried that, without figuring out what he'd done wrong, he might alienate his other friends, too. He didn't think Ron would be a problem. His two best friends seldom agreed on anything, but Harry had no way to be sure. He admitted to himself that there was a chance his other roommates, and maybe even Ginny, would be furious with him as well. Without knowing why Hermione was angry, he had no way to be certain, so he sat and worried, worried and sat.

He spent so long sitting and thinking in circles that he missed breakfast entirely, and he would likely have missed his first lesson as well if an insistent tapping sound hadn't brought him crashing back to reality. He blinked and looked up to find Hermione standing in front of his chair, arms crossed, foot tapping on the stone floor and looking even more cross than she had when she left so abruptly.

She was apparently in no mood for pleasantries, and she started right where she had left off earlier. "Professor McGonagall said that she can't stop you from going through with this hare-brained scheme of yours, but she shares my 'grave concern,' and we both think you're going to humiliate yourself.

"I can't stop you from taking the wretched O.W.L.s, but I won't help you either. I won't lend you my notes. I won't quiz you, and I won't tell you which books to read." The look on Hermione's face should have told him that the point wasn't up for discussion, but Harry preferred to study his hands rather than looking her in the face, so he missed the signs.

Harry was confused. There was really no way around it. He was certain that Hermione didn't know about his extra knowledge, so he couldn't work out what she hoped to gain. "If you're worried that I'll embarrass myself, shouldn't you be helping me? Won't I just do worse if you won't help me study?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed as Harry questioned her judgment. "Of course you will. That's the point, Harry, so maybe you'll re-think all this madness. Now come on," she continued in her best no-nonsense voice, "we'll be late for Herbology." Without further ado, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and began pulling him toward the portrait hole. Harry was fortunate indeed that he already had his books after his early-morning study session, as Hermione seemed in no mood to stop and allow him to fetch them.

* * *

The morning went much as it usually did, the trio working together in Herbology planting a new crop of Mandrakes. It was a devilishly tricky task, usually reserved it for the Third Years, and rendered even more difficult by Hermione's refusal to speak to Harry. Unfortunately for the Second Years, so many of the Mandrakes had gone into making the Mandrake Restorative Draught for the Petrified students that Professor Sprout had an especially an large planting to do.

Harry noticed that Hermione kept glaring at him over their work table, but Harry decided to wait until she confronted him. The glares stopped during Defense, which Harry suspected was a result of Hermione being distracted by Gilderoy Lockhart. He'd never been able to work out how a clever girl like Hermione could be so taken with the incompetent git.

The expected confrontation came after lunch, when Harry grabbed his Potions book and settled himself at one of the work tables in the Common Room. He had planned to finish reviewing Riddle's first year Potions knowledge. Something told him that he was getting close to understanding some of the more fundamental principles of brewing and how the basic potions worked. He had every intention of solving the puzzle before moving on to another subject, but Hermione interrupted his train of thought.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry looked at Hermione as if she had gone mad. It should have been quite obvious that he was studying Potions, so he had no idea what Hermione meant. He responded in quite eloquent fashion. "Huh?"

"Hey mate, you know exams are cancelled, right?" Ron's addition certainly made things clearer. Harry could understand Ron's taking any opportunity to avoiding studying, but it was quite out of character for Hermione.

"Really? I didn't, actually. When'd that happen?"

"Dumbledore told everyone at the feast after we rescued Ginny. So you can forget revising. Come have a game of Exploding Snap," Ron answered expectantly.

"Well I suppose that's why I didn't know," Harry answered, sardonically. "I wasn't at the feast, remember?" Hermione huffed, and Harry recognized the build-up up to another rant. "Harry! Do you really expect us to believe that Dumbledore didn't tell you? And even if he didn't, you've never studied anything until the last night before the exam. So what are you really doing? If you're plotting some sort of revenge against Malfoy, I won't be a part of it."

Harry grinned. The idea of getting back at Malfoy for what his family had done to Ginny was actually quite appealing. "That's not a bad idea, actually, but I really am just studying." Hermione's intense look didn't abate, and Harry decided it was time to let his friends in on his plans.

He sighed, feeling slightly defeated. "Alright, Hermione. I'm studying to take the fourth-year Potions final in two weeks. I'm skipping ahead to Fred and George's class."

Ron and Hermione both froze, Ron looking aghast and Hermione clearly still suspicious. Hermione broke through her shock first, stomping her foot in an out of place gesture for the usually prim and proper girl. "This is getting ridiculous, Harry! The History O.W.L. is bad enough, but there's simply no way you can prepare for both of them in only two weeks!"

Predictably, this announcement roused Ron from his stupor. "History O.W.L.? Bloody hell, Harry! When did that happen?"

Harry felt the beginnings of a headache appear, along with an irrational desire to hurt Hermione. "It was one of the things Dumbledore and I talked about. There was an accident in the Chamber," Harry prevaricated, "and I've ended up with a bunch of extra knowledge. Dumbledore's worried I'll be bored in the mostly theoretical classes like Potions and History, so I'm skipping ahead." Harry paused for a beat before adding, "Oh, and Astronomy too."

Hermione paled. "Harry, magical knowledge like that can be very dangerous! Dumbledore should have just Obliviated you straight off! What was he thinking?"

"Probably that Obliviation was the worst possible option, and he didn't fancy having me go quietly insane," Harry grumbled. He knew that Hermione was inquisitive by nature, but there were far better uses for his time than dodging questions he wasn't allowed to answer. He felt his mood improving almost immediately, however, when Hermione began a compelling imitation of a sea bass.

"But...But...dangerous...dissipate...unreliable...catatonic..." The last thought, whatever it meant, was enough to send Hermione into action. She streaked through the common room and out the portrait hole quickly enough to rustle papers as she passed, earning her an indignant glare from a seventh year Harry thought was called Perkins.

"You've got to teach me how to make her do that, Harry," Ron said with a wide grin. "But seriously, why on Earth would Dumbledore agree to this?"

Harry grinned. "I think he was worried that I might get bored."

Ron waited for a moment until it was obvious that no further information was forthcoming. "And?"

"Well, given our tendencies to cause minor bits of chaos, he may or may not have been concerned that I would become the third leg of the Terrible Twosome." Ron stared at Harry in apparent incomprehension until Harry took pity on his friend. "Fred and George. Stocky blokes. Ginger hair. I believe they may be distant relatives of yours," he added cheekily.

Ron blushed a deep crimson, but he also did something more typical of Hermione. He smacked Harry on the back of the head.

"Git! I've just never heard anyone call the twins that before. It bloody well fits, though."

"Feel free to keep using it. Maybe it'll catch on." Harry paused a moment for dramatic effect before adding, "Just don't tell them where you heard it. There'd be hell to pay."

Ron looked at him, aghast. "But they'll think I came up with it!"

"Best keep it to yourself then, eh?"

Ron continued to stare at Harry for half a heartbeat before bursting into gut-straining laughter. He was joined by Harry only a moment later, and neither boy managed to recover before they were gasping for breath and choking back tears of laughter.

With one final snigger, Ron returned himself to the chair he had fallen from earlier. He grinned at Harry and slouched back into his seat. "It's good to have you back, mate. Hermione's great and all, but there's a lot less fun and a lot more studying when she's your only friend."

At that, Harry's mirth dissipated. "I hate to break it to you, Ron, but I'm not going to be much fun for the next few weeks. I'll have to do a lot of work to pass these exams."

Ron nodded. "I know. Just don't badger me to study too, yeah?"

Harry nodded, and they sat for a while in companionable silence. Harry was about to go back to his Potions revision when Ron spoke up. "Harry, why do you suppose Dumbledore wants you in the twins' Potions class if he's worried about more pranks showing up. Wouldn't that just make things worse?"

Harry shot Ron a cheeky grin. "Well, officially it's because there's no way Snape would let me into his N.E.W.T. Potions class, no matter what I got on the O.W.L."

"So what's the unofficial reason?"

Harry's grin grew wider. "Imagine the look on Snape's face when he realizes that he's got me and your brothers in the same class."

Ron's expression quickly matched Harry's, except the red-head also developed a rather predatory glint in his eyes. It didn't take long for Harry to realize where he'd seen that look before, and it usually boded ill when seen on Fred or George. "When you gonna tell Snape?"

"September the second sounds about right. What d'you say?"

Ron and Harry shared a vision of their greasy-haired potions master driven to new heights of apoplexy, and they were once again driven to such extreme laughter that they fell from their chairs, though this time it was followed by the rather undignified practice of rolling around on the floor.

"Thanks for that, Harry. So, Exploding Snap?"

Harry grinned. He hadn't had a chance to hang out with Ron without worrying about the imminent death of someone around them since before Hermione was petrified, and the chance to sit in the common room and do nothing more productive than play Exploding Snap for a while appealed to him tremendously. "Sure. Oi, Seamus! You want to play Exploding Snap?"

Seamus and Dean, who had been sitting on a couch in the corner and arguing the relative merits of football and Quidditch, turned simultaneously to face Harry like a pair of birds regarding a predator. They didn't even bother to answer, opting for a more direct approach. They vaulted over the back of the couch they were occupying, nearly turning it over, and joined Harry and Ron in front of the cold hearth.

The deck was quickly divided amongst the players, and a spirited game began. The first round ended in spectacular fashion when Seamus grabbed the King of Wands, only to have it explode in his hand, setting off his other cards and singeing his eyebrows. Harry was reminded of an incident the previous year when Seamus had blown up his feather in Charms, with similar results. The rest of the boys enjoyed a hearty laugh at Seamus' expense before Dean dealt the cards, which had magically repaired themselves, for the next round. By the end of their free period, all four needed a visit to the hospital wing for small doses of Hair Growth Potion.

* * *

The next week passed slowly for Harry. He spent most of his time reviewing the extra knowledge in his head and using his various textbooks to sort out the questions likely to be covered on his upcoming exams. Hermione refused to do more than exchange polite greetings until he gave up his "foolish attempt to embarrass himself and Hogwarts." She even went so far as threatening not to help Ron with his homework if he sided with Harry.

Ron hesitantly admitted that Harry in their dorm one evening. Unfortunately for Ron, Hermione's definition of 'siding with' someone was rather broader than most people's, and she basically forbade Ron from helping Harry at all on the assumption that any information she gave Ron would be passed to Harry. It was a reasonable guess, though Harry thought it was carried to rather extreme lengths.

Harry offered to help Ron, but he was unsurprised when his friend refused. Harry honestly couldn't blame him. Ron didn't know the extent of Harry's new knowledge, and he certainly needed some kind of help to pass Transfiguration. Still, it made for one of the loneliest weeks in Harry's Hogwarts career. It reminded him in some ways of his time in primary school before coming to Hogwarts, although Dudley's absence was a decided improvement.

Harry's emotional state finally began improving after Ginny cornered him on the Tuesday following his confrontation with Hermione. He had noticed her trying to work up the courage to talk to him for several days, and he had been quietly encouraging. He'd invited her to play chess or do homework together several times, but she always pinked slightly and declined. It seemed she had finally overcome her reticence.

"Alright Harry?" she asked nervously.

"Yep. How 'bout you, Ginny?"

Ginny looked at her shoes for a minute, apparently reading more into Harry's casual greeting than he'd intended. "I...I'm fine, Harry."

Harry frowned for a moment until he realized that she was likely referring to her experience in the Chamber. He shook his head. "I doubt that, but you will be."

Ginny's head shot up at Harry's pronouncement, and she glared at him, angry enough that she forgot to be shy. "I said I'm fine, Potter," she growled.

Harry folded his arms and lounged back in his armchair. "No, Ginny, you're not. You're angry, but you're not nearly as angry as you should be. I'd be throwing things, if I were you."

Ginny giggled. "You know, Charlie did that once. Mum had him cleaning out the henhouse for a month. None of us dared to throw a tantrum after that."

Harry smiled, amused by the image of the elder Weasley mucking out the chicken coop and glad to see even a little joy on Ginny's face. "I don't think my Aunt would have stood for it, either. Would've earned me at least a month in my cupboard." Ginny gasped, and Harry blushed a moment later when he realized what he'd just admitted.

"It was true, then?"

"What was true," Harry temporized.

Ginny's posture closed again, and it was obvious she wasn't willing to let it go. "I overheard Fred and George telling Mum about some drawings they found in the cupboard when they got your trunk for you last summer. They thought you might have lived there, but Mum said that was ridiculous," she finished reluctantly.

Ashamed, Harry nodded, and Ginny flushed. It was not the charming blush of an embarrassed eleven-year-old but rather a full-faced reddening that would have sent any elder-brotherly types in the area running for shelter. "How long?"

Harry studied his trainers intently and mumbled something unintelligible. Ginny glared; she obviously wasn't going to put up with any nonsense. "I said, 'How long,' Harry."

"Until I got my letter."

Neither knew what to say after that, so they just sat in awkward silence. Ginny fidgeting and picked at her jumper, and Harry was about to get up and leave when she said, in a small voice, "I have nightmares, sometimes."

Harry nodded. Nightmares were something he knew about. Tom was plagued by them as a child, and Harry had experienced more than a few of his own. They mostly centered on his encounter with Quirrell and the events surrounding his parents' murder. "Me too."

Harry was surprised by the hope he saw in Ginny's eyes when she looked up. "Really?"

Harry was surprised by how much his simple admission seemed to mean to Ron's sister, and he felt slightly guilty that they hadn't had this conversation sooner. "Yeah. Mostly about Quirrell, but I've had a few about the Chamber, too. You want to talk about it?"

Ginny's head snapped up in surprise. She had apparently not considered that Harry would be willing to share her burden. "It's nothing like that. It's silly, really."

"What is it, then?"

Ginny paled. "It's...um...well, the thing is..."

"Ginny, if you don't--"

"It'smostlywhatTomsaidbeforeIfellasleep!"

Harry had to work very hard to suppress a smile. The conversation wasn't even remotely amusing, but he was reminded of Ron telling him that Ginny was usually an insufferable chatterbox. Unfortunately, he had no idea what she'd said. "Didn't quite catch that. Sorry."

"I said it's mostly what Tom told me before I went to sleep," she repeated quietly.

Harry nodded. "I see."

No one said anything for a moment, and Ginny became visibly tense. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

Ginny folded her arms and huffed. "Aren't you going to ask me what he said?"

"I hadn't planned on it."

Ginny was incredulous. "You didn't?"

"No."

"Well why the bloody hell not?"

Harry chuckled. "I see that Ron comes by his swearing honestly. Charlie?" Ginny glared at him by way of response, and Harry shook his head. "Fine. I'm not going to ask because the Tom Riddle I met in the Chamber was an unrepentant liar. He would have said anything he could think of to lower your defenses."

Harry knew for certain that Riddle had lied, but there was no way he could tell Ginny that. He was shocked when Ginny shook her head and croaked, "He said you would come to save me, and he would kill you. He was right."

Harry was gobsmacked. He had no idea how to comfort Ginny. He knew that Tom had never really expected Harry to find the Chamber of Secrets, but he had no idea how to convince Ginny. Just as he was starting to feel incredibly foolish, an idea struck him.

"That's odd. I don't feel dead."

Ginny blinked. "What?"

"Well, you said that Tom was right, that I came to rescue you, and he killed me. Which is a bit is odd, really. You'd think I'd have stopped walking around."

Ginny's expression shifted. Judging from her glare and splotchy red coloration, Harry suspected she was on her way to a full-blown explosion of temper. "Don't be a prat, Harry," she growled. "I know you're not dead, but you did come for me. Tom was right. I hate him; I hate him so much, but he was right."

Harry relaxed a little. As long as Ginny wasn't feeling defeated, he was pretty certain she'd be alright. "But he really wasn't." Ginny looked skeptical but didn't stop him, so Harry continued, "Think about it. How could he have known that I would be able to find the entrance to the Chamber when not even Dumbledore could do it?"

Ginny's anger evaporated immediately, and she seemed to deflate. Harry began to get a sick feeling in his stomach. He was suddenly worried that he'd overlooked something. "I told him," she whispered.

"What?" Harry was confused. There was no way Ginny could have known he'd find her when he himself hadn't. Was there?

"I told him, Harry. I told him all about the Philosopher's Stone and how everyone thought you were the Heir of Slytherin because you could speak Parseltongue."

The defeat in Ginny's voice was palpable. He could see her preparing for him to hate her, and in a perverse way, he was almost grateful. Her guilt made it easier to misrepresent the source of his knowledge, since he was doing it to help her. "Tom told me something in the Chamber. He gloated about how he'd framed Hagrid and how surprised he was that it worked so well." Harry paused and did his best to look Ginny in the eye. The effect was rather ruined by the fact that she was staring firmly at her shoes, but he kept hoping she'd look up.

"It took Tom _five years_ to find the entrance to the Chamber and figure out how to get inside. He'd never believe I could do it in an hour, or even in a month."

Ginny's gaze shot up to look him squarely in the eye, and he willed her to see the truth there. "He'd never have guessed that Moaning Myrtle, of all people, would be so much help. She was just a Mudblood to him," Harry spat, "someone beneath his notice." He took a breath and said, solemnly, "He told you he was going to kill me to make you feel guilty, to make you think about anything other than fighting him."

Ginny's eyes began to fill with hope and, Harry noticed, not a few unshed tears. "How do you know that, Harry," she asked in a desperate voice.

"Because you're strong, Ginny. You fought him all year." Harry debated whether to tell her more. He crossed his fingers and said, "If I were him, I'd have been worried about what you might do if you were desperate." He had to hope that Ginny knowing she had his respect would offset the reminder that she'd had good reason to be desperate. It wasn't immediately obvious whether the gamble had paid off, but she didn't start crying, which Harry took to be a good sign.

Unfortunately, it also led to another awkward silence, which neither Harry nor Ginny seemed capable of breaking. After several tense minutes, Harry finally took the initiative and returned the conversation to its original purpose. "You know that Riddle's gone, right?"

Ginny nodded and looked slightly exasperated. "I know, Harry. That doesn't stop the dreams, though."

"No," he shook his head, "I guess not. But you can always come find me. You know that, right?" At her blank look, he added, "If you have a nightmare, I mean."

Ginny smiled a wide, bright smile at him, and Harry felt a weight lift from his shoulders that he hadn't even realized was there. "Thanks, Harry." Just like that, Harry knew that Ginny would be okay. Not right away. It would take time and courage, but she'd eventually be alright.

He was so caught up in his relief that he was taken aback when Ginny poked him and said, "Harry! Are you even listening to me?"

Harry blushed. "Sorry. I was just, um, thinking about something."

Ginny giggled and smiled at their apparent role-reversal. "I asked you why you talk to me now, you prat."

Harry had to restrain himself from laughing. The idea of not talking to Ginny after what had happened seemed ridiculous. He and Ron had become friends with Hermione after the incident with the Troll, after all. "Mostly because you talk to _me_ now." Harry smirked and added, "It's hard to talk to you when you blush and run like a frightened rabbit every time I walk into a room...Not that it wasn't cute, of course." Harry lost his battle with his mirth, and he laughed as he finished speaking. Naturally, Ginny blushed. She also punched him quite hard in the shoulder, which made Harry shoot her a glare before laughing even harder.

Ginny joined him a moment later. After a while, she calmed enough to choke out, "Alright Potter, you win this round, but I warn you that I'm quite devious. You won't best me that easily." She looked at Harry with the carefully arranged look of a prim and proper Victorian lady before surrendering to an evil smirk. Harry was astonished by how closely she resembled the twins when they were up to something.

He was tempted to cower theatrically, but he just matched her grin and answered, "You wish, Weasley." They both collapsed into gales of laughter, and thus the friendship between Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley was born.

* * *

Harry found the balance of the term considerably less lonely than the previous week. Hermione's campaign of isolation continued, as did Ron's grudging acquiescence. Nevertheless, Harry did not suffer unduly. His enjoyment of Ginny's company grew steadily. She still blushed and stammered occasionally, and she was quite cranky in the mornings, but he quickly discovered that Ginny had a wicked sense of humor and could be every inch as devious as Fred and George. It didn't take him long to make a mental note never to cross Ginny Weasley, lest he find himself on the receiving end of her cunning. Of course, he didn't mind so much when her talents were directed elsewhere, especially when her brothers were the targets. Despite their developing friendship, Harry couldn't bring himself to ask Ginny to help him study. He told himself it was because she was only a first year, but he simply couldn't bear to take away her first chance to really enjoy Hogwarts. Knowing that his new friend was off enjoying the sunshine that he himself couldn't was oddly comforting while he slogged through mountains of magical knowledge.

* * *

For all its dramatic buildup, the day of Harry's first O.W.L. exam--in Astronomy--turned out to be largely unremarkable. He missed Defense to sit in Professor Dumbledore's study, which he had never seen before, and take the theoretical portion of the exam. Apparently Dumbledore had called in a few favors to allow Harry to take the test in private. The shock of seeing a Second Year taking the exam would otherwise have prevented the other students from performing to the best of their ability, he explained.

Determined not to disappoint the Headmaster, Harry wracked his brain figuring complex formulae for the motions of the planets and the changes of the constellations. Afterwards his head felt like something left over after one of the twins' experiments, but he was very optimistic, and he looked forward to spending his Wednesdays in the warmth of Gryffindor Tower instead of atop the blustery Astronomy Tower. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly in response to the broad grin Harry shot him after the exam concluded, and Harry couldn't help feeling slightly grateful to Tom Riddle for the depth and breadth of his knowledge, despite feeling slightly ill at the notion.

Hermione gave Harry a disapproving glare when he returned to his lessons later that day, but none of his other classmates seemed to have noticed his absence. Even Lockhart didn't comment on losing his favorite playacting partner, though that was probably because Harry fled when Lockhart attempted to corner him after lunch. He finally resorted to tipping over a suit of armor and ducking into the secret passage to escape the insufferable professor. He was certain that Filch would be unbearable for a few days, but he far preferred a surly Filch to another excruciating conversation with Lockhart.

For his part, Harry held out quiet hope that Lockhart would fall victim to the alleged curse on the Defense position, though the looming end of the school year made such hopes optimistic in the extreme. Harry firmly believed in the long-rumored curse, though he kept his opinion largely to himself. Having been instrumental in the demise of his previous Defense instructor had given him a rather unique perspective on the matter, but it was not one he cared to share with most of the school. '_How many qualified adult wizards manage to get themselves accidentally possessed by Voldemort while on holiday,'_ he had wondered more than once.

* * *

Harry's History and Potions exams went similarly, although Professors Sprout and McGonagall both had the good grace to accept Professor Dumbledore's notes excusing Harry from class without complaint. Harry wasn't sure, but he suspected that it had something to do with the fact that he had never been a stellar student of either discipline and was unlikely to be missed. With his new knowledge of Potions and his awareness that Transfiguration had always been the teenage Voldemort's greatest weakness, Harry was determined to improve substantially in both subjects.

Hermione remained adamantly opposed to Harry's plans, despite the fact that any chance of altering Harry's decision had passed. She had apparently taken Harry's refusal to listen to "reason" quite personally, and she continued to ruthlessly pressure Ron. Harry felt badly enough for his friend's situation that he instantly forgave him during each of his many apologies. Ron's feelings of guilt notwithstanding, Hermione's obstinance forced Harry to spend more time with Ginny, though he would hardly have called it a burden. He could probably have passed the time with Seamus and Dean, or even Neville, but Harry was growing to appreciate the fact that Ginny was a lot more fun than he had ever realized.

He discovered quite by accident that Ginny had appropriated several of her mum's romance novels, and he rather enjoyed teasing her with the possibility that he might share this knowledge with the twins. Ginny was mortified by this development, but she was no longer incapacitated by her crush on Harry, and she tried on several occasions to get back at him. She quickly discovered, however, that Harry's childhood had left him rather immune to good-natured teasing. He would just smile, laugh along with her, and say, "Good one, Weasley."

By the time the Leaving Feast came around, Harry was actually under the impression that she had given up trying to get him back, and he let his guard down. He even let Ginny talk him into posing for a picture with Colin Creevey, whose enthusiasm for photography had fortunately cooled somewhat after his encounter with the Basilisk. He was therefore taken completely by surprise the next day when he suddenly found himself hanging by his shoes from the ceiling in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express. His school robes hung around his face, and Neville, Ginny and Dean were roaring with laughter. Seamus had left to go to the loo, or Harry was certain that his Irish friend would have joined in the general mirth.

Harry was perfectly prepared to admit that Ginny had executed a masterful prank, but at that moment something happened to make it even worse. Or better, he had to admit, depending on one's point of view. Fred and George walked in.

"I believe I hear the sounds of chaos, brother mine."

"Indubitably, esteemed twin. The only question is, who is responsible, and why were we not consulted?"

"That's two questions, George."

"I'm Fred. You're George."

"No I'm not, I'm Fred."

The brewing argument, pointless though it would have been, was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Hermione. She looked around the compartment for a moment, but whatever she might have been about to say was headed off when the twins noticed the words 'Property of Ginny Weasley' written on the back of Harry's t-shirt in flashing, neon letters. "Nice work Gin-Gin. Staking your claim early, then?"

Ginny blushed deeply, but she was prevented from answering by a strangled voice emerging from Harry's robes. "What's he talking about Ginny? What claim?"

"Oh, Harrykins--"

"Esteemed Boy-Who-Lived--"

"Defeater of Dark Lords--"

"Slayer of Dragons--"

The twins' litany of accolades was interrupted by two events. Hermione, apparently tiring of the rampant immaturity on display, left the compartment in a huff. The rest of the astonished passengers exclaimed, in unison, "Dragons!?"

"Erm, figuratively speaking?"

"'Draco' does mean dragon, after all."

"Right you are, Fred."

"I'm George."

"Either way. Or _both_ ways if you prefer. Anyway Harry, did our ickle baby sister neglect to mention that your shirt now pronounces you the Property of Ginny Weasley?"

His twin, who was still uncertain whether he was Fred or George, sniffed theatrically. "Our little Gin-Gin, all grown up and dragging boys back to her cave by their hair."

Ginny glared at the twins for a moment before breathing on her finger nails and buffing them on her robes. "I thought Harry ought to know who'd just owned him, is all."

The entire compartment laughed uproariously, or rather everyone with their feet on the floor did. It was several minutes before Fred thought to let Harry down. He was somewhat careless about it, and Harry was rather wobbly when he tried to stand, probably as a result of his head-first return to the floor.

Once Harry regained his equilibrium, the journey to King's Cross passed entirely too quickly for his liking. It was not long before he was standing at Platform 9 3/4 wearing his Muggle clothes, mercifully free of Ginny's charm, and dreading his return to Privet Drive.

Harry faced the youngest Weasleys nervously, aware that he was about to ask for a large favor. "Ron, Ginny, can you guys take Hedwig to the Burrow with you this summer?"

Ron and Ginny both stared at Harry, agape, as though he had just asked them to fly to the moon for him. He continued hastily, before they could refuse outright, "It's just, I hated seeing her shut up in her cage last summer, and I'd bet anything they'll do it again. I've got a bunch of owl treats I can give you, and I can send some money if you like. I just can't stand seeing her locked up, and as Hermione still isn't speaking to me..." Harry trailed off and gazed hopefully at his friends, wishing desperately that his pet might have a better summer than her owner was likely to enjoy.

It was Ginny who finally answered, "Sure, Harry. Mum'll love to have another owl to help out with the post." Her brown eyes sparkled mischievously when she added, "Who knows, maybe Hedwig and Errol will hit it off and we'll have a bunch of owlets by the end of the summer." Ginny and Harry grinned, sniggering softly, but Hedwig hooted indignantly from her cage. Harry got the distinct impression that his familiar was not at all pleased with the proposed pairing.

When his laughter subsided, Harry answered, "Great idea, Ginny. It'd be nice to actually write to you guys this summer. I don't think any house-elves will be stopping my post this year." Harry grinned. He was quite certain that Dobby would not be coming anywhere near his mail now that the little creature owed Harry his freedom.

Ginny beamed at Harry, but Ron looked nervous and refused to meet Harry's eye. "I'm not sure about this, Harry. I mean, Hermione's still pretty mad at you. It's worse now that it was before. She reckons you owe her an apology, and you know how she is. I don't think she'll back down until she gets one."

Harry shook his head and let out an aggravated breath, but he also realized that he should have anticipated Ron's dilemma. Ginny was less understanding. "Ron, do you always let Hermione think for you?"

Ron foolishly answered with complete honesty. "Pretty much, yeah. Couldn't get my homework done otherwise, could I?"

"So you're going to stop being friends with Harry so Hermione will do your homework for you," she asked incredulously.

"No! I'm still friends with Harry. And Hermione doesn't do my homework for me. She just helps a bit. I wouldn't understand things half the time if she didn't explain them to me. I need her." He nearly whispered the last part, as if afraid to admit it out loud.

"And the other half of the time?"

Ron blushed suddenly and averted his eyes. "Well...er...I reckon she likes helping me, so I just sort of let her." "Oh, Ron." She turned to Harry and took Hedwig's cage from his outstretched hand. She was visibly concerned by her brother's unshakable trust in Hermione. "Of course we'll write to you this summer, Harry." She turned to glare at her brother again. "Won't we, Ron?"

Ron still seemed uncomfortable, and Harry tried to reassure him. "Don't worry about it, mate. It's just a few letters. How's Hermione going to know? Besides, if worst comes to worst, I can help you with your homework." Ron seemed dubious, so he added, "Look, Ron, you know why Hermione's angry with me. Do you really think I couldn't get us through Transfiguration and Charms?"

Ron seemed conflicted, and Harry was prepared to continue the discussion, but it seemed that Uncle Vernon had reached the end of his short tether. His beefy hand seized Harry's shoulder in an iron grip, and he growled, "Come along, Potter. We're leaving." Uncle Vernon grinned nastily at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and continued, "I won't be seen in the company of this riff-raff. You'd think with all that unnaturalness, you freaks could at least put some decent clothes on your children. The girl looks like she got her dress out of a rubbish bin."

Harry saw Mr. Weasley pale and Mrs. Weasley turn red, which he recognized as warning signs for an imminent explosion of temper. He even heard some suspicious sniffles from behind him. Harry twisted with all his might, but he was unable to wrestle free from his uncle's grip to confirm that his newest friend has just been reduced to tears. Before he knew it he was being hustled roughly out of the train station and into the hot summer sun toward the car park, where the Dursley's car, looking decidedly like a prison wagon, waited to take him to his summer exile.

* * *

A/N: The scene that Harry and Dumbledore watched in Harry's memory is, of course, from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (yes, the American Edition, abominable title and all) p. 200.

I'm sure there are a number of readers (possibly including the people who decide whether this gets posted at all) who are concerned about Hermione's behavior. Rest assured that she's just going through a phase. Hermione's always been the intelligent, mature one in the trio. Harry's just accumulated an extra sixteen years of life experience, so things will have to change. She's recognizing that, but so far it's only subconscious. She's upset with the notion that Harry's stolen her place, but she doesn't know why she's angry, and it's put her into a bit of a state. At thirteen, she hasn't gotten used to the need to respect other people's opinions yet, especially not Harry's. Even in my universe she's always looked down on him a little. I hope everyone picked up from the prologue that Harry's choice of reading material has tended toward fiction, which Hermione would naturally view as frivolous.

Basically, I've asked myself why Hermione didn't explain herself fully to Harry and Ron during the "Firebolt incident" in Prisoner of Azkaban, and the only explanation I could come up with is that she didn't respect them enough to treat them as equals. I've applied that logic here, and the result is the behavior I've written. She'll eventually get better, but she'll first have to learn that other people's opinions have value. (Remember that Hagrid told her house-elves don't want freedom and how she completely ignored him?) I'm not writing an "evil Hermione" story. She just wants things to be the way they've always been, which includes Harry doing what she tells him. She'll come around eventually, but it'll take time.

Bottom line: Trust me. I've put a good deal of thought into this. Things will get better, but as always, change takes time and effort.


	5. The Exile

**Chapter 4: The Exile**

Harry Potter awoke suddenly, his brief cry shattering the sleepy silence surrounding Number 4, Privet Drive. He groaned in frustration and beat his pillow when he realized that hed once again been awoken by the same nightmare hed been having for weeks.

He found it strange that, of all the extraordinary events that had occurred during his second year at Hogwarts, a few words written on an unremarkable stone wall should be the thing haunting his sleep. A friend on deaths doorstep, another Petrified for almost two months, the encapsulated soul of a nascent Dark Lord and a titanic snake that murdered with a glance he could handle, but a single glimpse into one possible future disturbed his sleep with uncanny regularity. '_In the gathering Dark, the Champion of the Light emerges...'_

Dumbledore hadnt been certain that the portentous words applied to Harry, but with little to distract him during his enforced solitude at the Dursleys, the raven-haired young man turned the prophecy around and around in his mind until he became quite sure that it did. It had an eerie resonance and a dreadful familiarity, as if the strange words whispered some long-forgotten truth for his ears alone. He was slowly accepting that he might indeed be the Champion, but instead of bringing peace, his acceptance brought creeping dread.

His dreams were haunted by nameless figures cloaked in darkness. More than once, he awoke in a cold sweat after hearing Voldemort's sibilant hiss, _'Use the boy...'_ Harry never remembered the dreams when he awakened, only images, echoes of the nameless fear that stalked him in the night. As far as Harry was concerned, that was quite enough. He feared going to sleep each night, and he started to worry that he might go mad.

After every nightmare, he sat up and brooded in the dark, having quickly realized that he'd never be able to get back to sleep. His state of mind was hardly improved by another summer of isolation, and he wondered, not for the first time, why Dumbledore insisted on sending him back to the Dursleys every year. Hedwig was spending the holiday at the Burrow, ostensibly to allow her freedom and better hunting, but really so Ron and Ginny had a more reliable means of contacting him than the Weasleys' ancient and decrepit owl. In retrospect, that decision had been a mistake. Uncle Vernon hadn't even bothered to ask Harry about Hedwig, but he still hadn't had a single letter since he had left the Weasleys at Platform 9 3/4.

Harry was certain that Hedwig was clever enough to evade Dobby in the unlikely event that the house-elf was once again stopping his post, which left him utterly baffled. Some small corner of his mind whispered that maybe the Weasleys blamed him for the awful things Uncle Vernon had said and were deliberately refusing to write him, but he couldn't bring himself to believe that. Ron, at least, knew how Harry despised the Dursleys.

Finally, just after dawn on 14 July, Harry saw Hedwig winging her way toward his window, and his heart swelled with hope. As she drew nearer, Harry discerned that she was most definitely carrying a letter. When she alighted on the back of his chair a few agonizing minutes later, she stuck out her right leg imperiously, as if to say, _You've been waiting all summer for a letter, silly boy, so take it already._

Harry chuckled softly at his owl's antics. _'Half of the time, I'm not sure who owns whom,'_ he thought sardonically. Hedwig hooted at him, apparently in agreement. Harry tore open the letter, and his eyes quickly scanned down to the signature at the bottom. He was moderately surprised to see Ron's messy scrawl. Hed assumed the letter would be from Ginny since Ron had still been nervous about writing him when theyd parted ways at Platform 9 3/4. He returned to the beginning of the letter and read:

_Dear Harry,_

Bet you're surprised to hear from me, eh mate? Things have been tough around here lately. We forgot you couldn't write to us cause we had Hedwig. Sorry about that.

Ginny's been in a right state since about a week after term ended. She locks herself in her room all day and won't talk to anyone. Mum has to drag her down to dinner most nights, and she isnt eating. I even heard her crying in her room the other day. I don't think Ginny's cried since the time she fell out of the tree when I was nine. Except that day in the Chamber.

I heard Mum and Dad talking a few nights ago. They were talking about sending Hedwig to Bill in Egypt, but they were worried she might not make it and they dont think Gringotts would give him time off. Ginny worships Bill, but he hasn't been home since I was eight. Mum and Dad must be really worried if theyre trying to get him to come home. I know I am.

I dont know if there's anything you can do, but try to think of something.

Ron

P.S. I gave Hedwig a couple Chocolate Frogs for you. Are the Muggles feeding you okay this year?

Harry's stomach clenched into a ball of tension before he finished even half of Rons letter. Sensing Harry's distress, Hedwig moved to perch on his shoulder as he re-read Ron's brief missive. She gently rubbed the soft feathers on her head against Harry's ear, but the soothing motion did nothing to stifle his concern. The letter didn't contain much information, but the little there was worried him. It sounded like Ginny was having problems with Riddle again, but either Ron was too clever to put something like that in writing, which Harry doubted, or Ginny was categorically refusing to talk to her family about what was bothering her. He found that possibility rather unlikely too, but he had to admit that it was possible she was ashamed to tell her parents just how involved she had gotten with Tom Riddle.

Harry knew that he would have to do something, but he wasn't sure where to begin. He also realized that he had neglected his owl, who would need to go to sleep soon. Checking the alarm clock he'd "rescued" from one of Dudley's tantrums, Harry found that he had about forty minutes before he would need to serve the enormous breakfast the Dursleys demanded every morning. That left him about ten minutes before he would have to start cooking. He extended his arm, inviting Hedwig to perch there, and spent that time thinking out loud, using his familiar as a sounding board.

* * *

Harry collapsed onto his lumpy bed in exhaustion and groaned. He couldn't believe Uncle Vernon had refused him dinner for failing to wash the car while it sat in the parking lot at Grunnings. Harry had never held any illusions that his uncle was a reasonable man, but this level of spitefulness was unprecedented. He rolled over to make sure his groan hadn't awakened Hedwig and found her still dozing peacefully. _'I guess Id better start those letters.'_

Harry immersed himself in his correspondence, so it took him longer than it really should have, but he eventually remembered the Chocolate Frogs Ron had sent. _'Idiot.'_

After properly chastising himself, Harry tore into the packages and ate greedily. Three small pieces of chocolate hardly satisfied his appetite after a long days work. In fact, they only really served to sharpen his hunger, but even a small morsel was better than nothing. He glanced absently at the Famous Wizard cards included with his frogs. Harry had never been the collector that Ron was, but after learning who Nicholas Flamel was from a Famous Wizard card, he felt compelled to at least read them. _'Gwenog Jones, Cyprian Youdle, and Cornel--'_

Harry dropped the cards in shock, and a grin spread across his face, his hunger forgotten. He had a wonderful, awful idea. Unfortunately, planning his revenge on Ron would have to wait until hed written a letter to Gringotts.

After two aborted starts, a spilt bottle of ink and a broken quill, Harry had a passable letter.

_To: Potter Account Manager  
Gringotts Wizarding Bank_

Dear Sir,

It has come to my attention that Gringotts employs a wizard named Bill Weasley who is stationed in Egypt. I understand that the Weasleys are currently experiencing a family emergency, and they would like Bill to come home if at all possible.

I do not know the current status of my account, but I would like to ask if I could pay Gringotts for Bill's time and arrange for him to come home.

Sincerely,  
Harry J. Potter

Harry looked at his completed letter. It was short and to the point, but it was unfailingly polite, and Harry hoped that the goblins would be receptive. He didnt know the customs of formal address among the goblins, so he could only hope they would recognize that he'd tried to show respect. Still, the letter to Gringotts was the easier of his two pieces of correspondence night. He had no idea what to write to Ginny, but he withdrew a clean sheet of parchment from his dwindling supply and began the difficult letter anyway.

It was well after midnight before he'd finished a satisfactory draft, and he promptly collapsed into bed. He neither saw Hedwig collect the finished letters from his desk nor heard her leave through his open window to make her delivery. If he had, he would certainly have tried to stop her, as he had not yet responded to Ron's original letter. That would now have to wait until another owl appeared in his window. Harry's letter to Ginny, which was currently winging its way across southern England, read:

_Dear Ginny,_

Ron's recently written me and told me that things aren't going very well at the Burrow. He implied that there's something bothering you, but he either didn't know what it is, or he didn't want to tell me. I can only guess that it's something to do with what happened in June. Please remember that you can always talk to me, no matter what it's about.

Now, on a lighter note, I require your assistance to exact a bit of revenge on your brother. I've just realized that last sentence is rather ambiguous. I meant Ron. He completely forgot to write to me this summer, and I believe this requires a small bit of revenge. I've recently come across the Famous Wizard card of Cornelius Agrippa, which I happen to know is the only one Ron's missing. I'm assuming that you've been involved in the running prank wars over the years and that you've got some way of doing magic without getting pinched. If not, please just forget about this. Its not worth getting into trouble over. I've included instructions on a second parchment.

Please be advised, Miss Weasley, that I haven't surrendered my right to revenge for your prank on the Hogwarts Express just because I've asked for your help. Think of this as a joint venture, after which all is fair. I'd suggest that you make sure that your socks match for a while, though if my plan really involved anything to do with your socks, I probably wouldn't have told you.

Seriously though, try to come out of your room and enjoy the summer a bit. One of us ought to, and since I've been stuck on garden detail, I'm afraid it falls to you. Its an onerous task, I know, but I have great faith in you.

Yours,  
Harry

P.S. Sorry about what my uncle said on the platform. He's a dreadful excuse for a human being, and I don't think he's ever said anything nice about anyone, except of course for his precious Diddy-Dumkins. (That's my cousin Dudley, in case you don't speak Neanderthal.) Try not to let it bother you.

P.P.S. I realized it sounds like I was kidding about having faith in you, but I really do. You'll be fine, Ginny. You just have to believe it yourself.

* * *

Harry woke with the Sun the next morning and enjoyed a languid stretch before getting out of his substandard bed. It was the first night in a long while that he hadn't been disturbed by nightmares, and he so thoroughly enjoyed having gotten a solid night's sleep that it took him several minutes to really awaken. When he did, however, he was struck with a stab of panic. _'Oh bugger! Hedwig's gone!'_ He looked around for a minute before coming to the obvious conclusion: his willful owl had left to deliver his correspondence. He groaned. _'Ron's going to _kill_ me.'_

Despite Hedwigs premature departure, Harry dutifully composed a response to Ron's letter. It was rather light-hearted, full of questions about the summer and the prospects of the Chudley Cannons, Ron's Quidditch team. He was careful to apologize that Ron's letter had been left out of the previous bunch, but he didn't mention his attempt to bring Bill to England.

The next few days passed normally, which is to say that Harry was up with the sun every day to cook and clean for his family before studying magic until well after dark. Harry finally finished all of his summer homework just before dinner on the third day after Hedwigs departure, and he relished his comparative freedom. Snape's essay on the uses of common garden nettles in medicinal potions was fiendishly difficult, and any reasonable teacher would have saved it for N.E.W.T. students. Despite his annoyance, Harry thanked his lucky stars that he'd been excused from the History essay on the witch burnings of the sixteenth century. _'How many different ways did Binns expect us to write Flame Freezing Charm,'_ he wondered.

Harry was cleaning up after lunch one day and reviewing some of the more esoteric knowledge hed "inherited" from Tom Riddle, when a dignified but otherwise unremarkable barn owl flew through an open window. To his horror, it gently alighted on the back of Aunt Petunia's antique rocking chair. He immediately held out his arm and invited the owl to perch there instead. Harry didnt know what Aunt Petunia would do if she found talon marks on her favorite chair, but he was certain it would be unpleasant.

Harry had no idea from whom the mysterious owl might have come. Except for owls delivering official correspondence, only Hedwig had ever visited Privet Drive. He knew that the Weasleys owned an owl, but this was very clearly not Errol. Part of him was slightly nervous about the unidentified visitor, realizing that Lord Voldemort was still out there somewhere and wouldn't hesitate to send him a curse by owl.

He carried the owl to his small room and tentatively took the letter affixed to its foot. He was surprised to see the bird fly out the window and perch on a branch of the large beech a few feet away, where it stared at him expectantly. Harry supposed it was probably waiting for a response. _'Maybe I can get it to take my letter to Ron!'_ Harry's expansive grin threatened to crack his face, and he tore into the letter without noticing the seal depicting crossed pikes on the back.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

We at Gringotts are proud to serve our clients wherever possible. However, I regret to inform you that we are unable to recall Curse Breaker Weasley at this time. Representatives of our Antiquities department inform me that he is in the middle of a time-sensitive operation and cannot afford to be away from his work.

Also, it is my responsibility as your account manager to inform you that, while you are well off, you do not have the means to retain a Gringotts Curse Breaker for an extended period. A week of his time would cost you nearly one-half of your available cash. Making such an investment without hope of return would be foolish in the extreme, and my duties as your account manager preclude me from authorizing such a request.

If you are interested, I can suggest an alternative. Gringotts could arrange for Curse Breaker Weasley's family to win a prize of 500 Galleons, which would be enough to finance a trip to visit him in Egypt. This alternative would be considerably less expensive for you and more convenient for Gringotts. I am afraid that this is the best option we can offer. Whether it is feasible will, of course, depend upon the nature of the Weasley family's emergency.

Now that you are taking an active interest in your finances, I suggest that you visit the bank to discuss the state of your affairs.

Crysknife  
Gringotts Account Manager

Harry's initial disappointment at the letters contents was soon replaced by cautious optimism. He wasn't entirely convinced that Crysknifes plan was sound, and he had no idea how the goblins would manage to pull it off without making it look like a set-up, but he had no obvious alternative. He dashed off a quick letter to Crysknife, indicating his assent, before calling the nameless owl in from its perch.

"Do you suppose you could stop by Ottery St. Catchpole on your way back to the bank?" The owl blinked at Harry, who wondered if all post owls were as intelligent as Hedwig. He couldn't understand this mysterious owl the way he could generally understand his familiar, but he got the impression that the owl thought he was crazy. Nevertheless, Harry attached both letters to the owl's leg, and began instructing it.

"The first letter is for Ron Weasley at the Burrow. That's in Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon, mind you. It's a bit of a ramshackle house on a big parcel of land. You can't miss it." Harry gave his arm an upward swing to help the owl take off and added, "Off you go, now." The Gringotts owl disappeared without so much as a hoot or a click of its beak at Harrys bizarre request. Harry sighed. _'I miss Hedwig.'_

Harry grudgingly returned to the kitchen, where he finished washing the lunch dishes before heading to the front yard to weed Aunt Petunias flower beds for the third time that week. _'At least this is such a monotonous job that I can review Toms knowledge at the same time,'_ he mused. He finally finished this latest in a series of mind-numbing chores just before dinner. He showered quickly and joined the Dursleys in the dining room, but he would later reflect that his evening would have been better, all in all, if he had stayed in his room. The news Uncle Vernon gave him over pudding was far from welcome.

"What do you mean Aunt Marge is coming for the rest of the summer?" Harry bellowed. Marjorie Dursley was Uncle Vernon's spinster sister and the only person, with the possible exception of Severus Snape, who was even less fond of Harry than Uncle Vernon. Her visits were vile affairs with her fawning over Dudley eclipsed only by her verbal abuse of Harry. Harry wasn't sure which he would have chosen, given the option, but Aunt Marge's visits were the only times he ever felt the least pity for his cousin.

Uncle Vernon, who could not hear Harry's inner monologue, glowered at his nephew and growled, "Her house is being fumigated, boy, and she's--"

Aunt Petunia, who had no great liking for Aunt Marge either, interrupted. "Yes, probably one of those wretched bulldogs of hers brining in fleas." She sneered and shuddered at the notion. "I won't have them in the house again, Vernon! Last time it took me _weeks_ to get the stench of dog out of the carpet. I won't have it, I tell you," she shrieked.

Vernon sighed, and Harry got the impression that this was merely the latest engagement in an on-going marital war of attrition. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what would have happened to his aunt and uncles marriage if they hadn't been united by their mutual loathing of their nephew. He was quickly distracted from his contemplation by the grating voice Uncle Vernon used when he was trying to be charming. "I know you're not fond of her, dearest, but we mustn't forget she's family."

Harry narrowly avoided snorting in amusement. The Dursleys had never shown him the least kindness or warmth, family connections notwithstanding. In fact, he was hard pressed to identify a time when they had even looked after him properly. Still, they had provided him houseroom for twelve years, however grudgingly. Harry didn't feel that he owed them anything. In fact, he'd worked off his debt to them several times over, but he figured that he could at least acknowledge that they'd provided him with minimal food and shelter.

Realizing that he would not persuade his uncle to cancel Marges visit, Harry retreated to the kitchen. The dishes would have to be done eventually, and even being a spectator for the most spectacular marital spat to grace Number 4, Privet Drive in many years couldn't make up for having to clean up dried-on casserole. Harry grimaced at the thought and began running hot water into the sink.

* * *

Aunt Marge arrived three days later, and her visit quickly turned out to be even more horrible than anticipated. Despite Aunt Petunia's protests, Uncle Vernons sister brought along her favorite bulldog, Ripper, who Harry despised even more than Aunt Marge. The ill-tempered canine had chased Harry up an oak tree when he was nine, and Harry categorically refused to forgive the vicious animal after an entire night spent dangling from a tree-limb. Aunt Marge carried the obese canine into the house from Uncle Vernon's company car and only put him down to dote on Dudley, leaving Harry to lug her enormous bags in from the car.

The atmosphere inside Number Four, Privet Drive rapidly degenerated from its usual tense silences and angry glares to what could only be described as cold war. Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge couldnt stand one another, but rather than fight their battles directly, they used Harry as a proxy. The Thursday after her arrival, for example, Aunt Marge insisted that Harry take Ripper for a walk immediately after lunch, which prevented him from helping Aunt Petunia with the dishes. In retaliation, Petunia mysteriously forgot to send Harry up to the guest room with Marges afternoon tea tray until everything was already cold.

The ultimate result of this oblique warfare was to put Harry in the bad graces of every adult in the house. The spate of unjustified punishments that followed rapidly heated Harry's temper to the boiling point. The situation wasn't helped by the fact that his continuing nightmares kept him from getting a solid night's sleep, shortening his fuse considerably. His already volatile mood was not improved when he received a letter from Ron only five days into Aunt Marge's visit.

_Hey Harry_

You won't believe it, mate! Dad's won the annual Gringotts raffle!

Mum almost fainted she was so happy! Now we don't have to worry about Bill getting time off to come see us. We're going to Egypt to see him! Ginny squealed and skipped about the living room for about ten minutes after Mum told her. Mental that one. Mum says we should even have enough left over to buy me a new wand if we're careful.

We're leaving tomorrow. We should be back at the end of August. See you on the Express if not before.

Ron

P.S. Mum's just reminded me that we've got Hedwig's cage, so she can't stay there with you. If you want, you can send her to visit my Great Aunt Muriel. She has a big house with lots of land out in Suffolk. Or Hedwig can come back here to keep Errol and Hermes company. There's lots of mice and frogs around here for them to eat. Anyway, enjoy the rest of your summer. Cheers, mate. 

Harry was angry with Ron and feeling guilty for being angry. He'd orchestrated the whole thing himself, after all, and it had worked perfectly. Ron getting a wand that suited him was an unexpected bonus, but Harry couldn't help feeling a little resentful that his only correspondent had abandoned him without really even thinking about it. Harry knew Ron wasn't the most thoughtful bloke, but he couldn't believe that he hadn't at least received an early 'Happy Birthday' message from his best mate. _'Bloody Ron! How am I going to put up with Aunt Marge when I don't even have any post to look forward to?'_

By the end of the day, Harry had gotten over his reflex reaction to Rons letter, though he was still quite frustrated with his best friend, and he realized that he had yet to decide where to send Hedwig. He didn't want his familiar to spend the summer with someone he'd never met, but he also didn't like the idea of her spending a month in a place where there were no witches and wizards to talk to her or give her post to carry. He shook his head at how strongly he was beginning to anthropomorphize his owl and stroked her feathers. "The Weasleys are going to Egypt for the summer, Hedwig, but Ron said you can stay at the Burrow with Errol and Hermes if you want. Would you like that?"

Hedwig blinked at him and hooted uncertainly. "I know you'd rather stay with me, but your cage is at the Burrow. There's nowhere for you to perch." She blinked mournfully at him, and Harry said, "I know. I'll miss you too, but I think this is for the best." He carried her regretfully to the window and said, "Have a good summer, Hedwig. I'll see you in a few weeks."

Hedwig cuffed Harry about the head and flew off into the gathering dusk. Harry felt his heart break a little. He doubted he'd see his familiar for over a month. He'd never been separated from her for so long before, and it felt wrong somehow.

* * *

The already significant tension at Harrys summer exile slowly escalated over the next week. Aunt Marge made snide comments about Harry's hair, his clothes and his sickly appearance, all the while using him to needle Aunt Petunia. It took every ounce of Harrys self-control not to shout the thoughts running through his head. _'Do you think I like being half-starved all summer and wearing Dudley's cast-offs? It's nothing to do with me! It's all down to your precious, miserly brother!'_

Harry tried escaping to the library one day, but Aunt Marge didn't seem to like having him outside of her immediate field of view. The verbal abuse was even worse when he returned, and Aunt Petunia denied him dinner for shirking his chores, though Harry suspected that the real reason was that his aunt resented being left alone in the company of her sister-in-law. He didn't try hiding out in the library again. Instead, Harry began concentrating on his newfound magical knowledge when his anger began to get the better of him. This had the combined benefits of distracting him and actually helping him prepare for the next school year. It also had the unfortunate side effect of causing him to take on a vacant expression, and Aunt Marge was soon expressing the opinion that Harry was mentally subnormal.

On the eighth day of Aunt Marge's visit, the volatile situation finally came to a head. She started off the day at breakfast by suggesting that Harry should have been euthanized at birth due to his small stature and mental shortcomings. Uncle Vernon looked thoughtful and Dudley's piggy little eyes positively shone with glee, but Aunt Petunia's reaction surprised Harry. She glared at her sister-in-law with a venom that Harry had never expected, and he was certain that he saw her hand rising to slap Aunt Marge before she thought better of it. Harry felt something that he'd never felt towards the Dursleys before: gratitude. Aunt Petunia had never shown even this vague sense of protectiveness toward him before, and he found it strangely heartwarming. He doubted he'd ever see a recurrence, but he was reminded for the first time that his aunt really was his mum's sister.

If that had been the day's only incident, Harry could probably have controlled his simmering temper. Unfortunately, the situation only deteriorated further. Lugging around a heavy bag of fertilizer, Harry walked between Ripper and a squirrel the dog was preparing to chase. The ill-trained canine apparently interpreted this as a challenge, and he chased Harry across the back yard and into the kitchen, where Harry realized to his horror that he was still wearing his filthy work clothes. Aunt Petunia's apoplectic response to Harry's defiling her kitchen left both of them quivering in rage, and before he could escape to the sanctuary of his bedroom, Aunt Marge began berating Harry for endangering Ripper's "fragile health." Harry suppressed the urge to point out that the obese dog was likely to suffer a coronary just from breathing hard, but it was a near thing.

As usual, Harry was pressed into service helping Aunt Petunia prepare dinner that evening. Also as usual, he was given the most distasteful jobs his aunt could dream up. He was in the midst of chopping a particularly large onion with a rusty knife, screaming mental invective at his aunt all the while, when he heard the trailing end of a special news bulletin coming from the living room.

_"...escapees are considered armed and extremely dangerous. Citizens are warned not to approach the convicts but to notify their local law enforcement agencies immediately. I repeat: both escapees are considered armed and extremely dangerous."_

Harry stuck his head through the door to his right just in time to see the faces of two wild-looking people who bore a striking resemblance to one another. The pictures promptly disappeared, but the return of the program Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon been watching was drowned out by his uncles angry voice.

"What bloody good is that? They haven't even told us where they've escaped from! Could be on their way up the front lawn right now, couldn't they? Petunia--"

Whatever Uncle Vernon had been about to bellow at his wife was cut off as he turned to peer around the back of his armchair and caught sight of Harry standing in the doorway. "What are you doing there, boy? Get back to the kitchen where you belong!"

Harry shook his head sighed, resigned to getting no further information about the escaped convicts. "Yes, uncle." As he returned to his onion, he heard the voice of his adoptive aunt griping over her aperitif.

"I've always known that boy was no good, Vernon. Lazy, just like his no-account parents. He'd have gone straight to the state if he'd been left on my doorstep, and good riddance. Runty, that one. Probably sickly and dreadfully expensive to keep, wasn't he?"

"Oh yes, dreadfully. Always staring at the food on Dudley's plate. Greedy and ungrateful. Never a..."

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep, steadying breath and tuned out the conversation in the other room. He was used to his family complaining about the bother of keeping him fed and clothed, but the grumbling was usually confined to the residents of Number 4, Privet Drive. He was ashamed, somehow, to be railed against to an outsider, though he couldn't imagine why. He was also becoming increasingly angry at Aunt Marge. _'Lazy, am I? She's been here a week, and all she ever does is drink cognac and watch those bloody soaps. And yell at me to take Ripper for a walk. Stupid dog.'_

Thinking about Aunt Marge left Harrys already volatile temper teetering on the edge of his control, but he somehow managed to rein it in long enough to help Aunt Petunia prepare dinner without further incident. He cried a veritable river as he finished chopping the onion, of course, but that had nothing to do with his suppressed fury. Harry privately thought that his aunt got a certain sadistic pleasure out of the little torments she was able to inflict, but he never let those thoughts progress too far. No good ever came from grousing, even privately, about things he couldnt change.

Strangely, both dinner and dessert that evening passed without further taxing Harry's fragile emotional state. It wasnt until afterward, when Uncle Vernon opened yet another bottle of cognac, that the situation again began to deteriorate. Sensing trouble, Harry attempted to escape to the kitchen to do the washing up, but Aunt Marge slurred, "Get in here, you!"

His aunt and uncle had always encouraged Harry to be silent and invisible, not inflicting himself on "normal" people. The fact that nothing about the Dursleys could be considered normal was more or less immaterial. Aunt Marge, on the other hand, preferred to have Harry where she could see him, presumably to ensure that he wasn't getting up to any mischief. Harry was caught in a web of conflicting expectations, and the tension was slowly driving him mad. Nevertheless, he sulked back into the dining room. He'd had quite enough of Aunt Marge for one day, and he had no desire to endure her presence any longer, but he knew that refusing would only lead to trouble. Instead, he withdrew into his mind and began reviewing everything he knew about Animagi. His visage went just a bit slack and he answered gruffly, "Yes Aunt Marge?"

"Don't you take that tone of voice with me, you ungrateful whelp!" Harrys stomach clenched at the realization that Aunt Marge was quite drunk. She was bad enough sober; he had no desire to find out what she might be capable of doing while intoxicated. His eyes went vacant as he pushed aside the anger bubbling up inside him and delved deeper into his memories, desperately hoping to keep the volatile situation from escalating. _'The Animagus transformation is a highly-advanced discipline composed of a series of...'_

"Pay attention, boy!" Aunt Marge growled and then hiccoughed, drawing looks of concern even from Petunia.

_'...transfigurations designed to partially change the witch or...'_

"And stand up straight! Just because your filthy parents were worthless layabouts is no reason for you to reflect badly on your decent, hard-working relatives!"

Despite Harry's best efforts, Aunt Marge's loathsome, androgynous voice slowly broke through his mental barriers. _'...designed to partially change the witch or wizard into...'_

"Why my poor, soft-hearted brother took you in at all is beyond me. I'd never have the son of some filthy, worthless drunks defiling my house, no sir!"

Harry had spent ten years of his life being told that his parents were worthless drunks, but he'd since learned differently. His fragile control snapped in an instant, and his face contorted into a rictus of fury. "My parents weren't drunks you fat, useless old cow! They saved my life! What have you ever done but drink Cognac and raise vicious bulldogs?" He wished furiously for Aunt Marge to be turned into the squirrel hed seen earlier so her precious Ripper could chase her around the living room a bit. Maybe then shed learn what a horrid, ill-tempered creature she'd fostered.

Aunt Marge opened her mouth to respond when her nose began to stretch, and her cheekbones and forehead became less prominent. Her rotund body began to shrink and change color a moment later, and a shriek of alarm issued from her widening mouth. The entire family watched, transfixed, as Aunt Marge turned into a small, reptilian creature that a detached corner of Harrys mind thought was called a newt. Harry and the Dursleys stared in shocked horror at the changes overcoming Aunt Marge.

A moment later, the shocked silence in the dining room was broken by Ripper, who growled and lunged at the small creature sitting in Aunt Marge's chair. Aunt Marge scurried down the back of the chair and across the room before slipping under the door to the kitchen and into relative safety. Her sanctuary was violated a moment later when Ripper bulled headlong through the swinging door and chased his owner across the slick linoleum to the counter, at which point she ran up the cabinets until she was sitting atop the upper cabinet and glowered at her pet as fiercely as her diminutive form allowed.

Harry was in a panic. He'd just done serious magic. There was no way the Ministry could have overlooked it. He had no idea how he had managed to pull of such a massive Transfiguration with accidental magic, but he wasn't about to stick around long enough to find out. He doubted the Ministry would accept his explanation that it had been an accident, especially since no one had ever bothered to investigate the incident with Dobby the previous summer. _'Oh, God! I'll be expelled now for sure!'_

Harry dashed out of the dining room and up the stairs, unnoticed by the Dursleys, who had finally broken through their collective stupor and moved to the kitchen where they were trying, with limited success, to restrain Ripper. Aunt Petunia was battering the hungry bulldog with a heavy ladle. Harry would have been tempted to laugh if the situation hadn't been so dire. They were all getting an object lesson in just how savage Aunt Marge's dog really was, and all three Dursleys bore various bite and scratch marks to prove it. Harry could hear the commotion all the way from his room at the far end of the house. He ignored it and quickly gathered his belongings. He had no idea where he'd go, but whatever he did, he was certain he'd need his wand.

Less than three minutes later, Harry was attempting to maneuver his bulky school trunk down the stairs and out the front door without creating enough commotion to attract the Dursleys' attention. He nearly made it before he felt a beefy hand seize him about the neck. The angry voice attached to the hand growled, "Get back here, boy. You get in here right now and you fix her."

"I can't," Harry protested.

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Potter?" Harry was sorely tempted to shout 'Yes!' at the top of his lungs, but Uncle Vernon bulled on before he got a chance. "You did it! I know you did, and you're going to undo it or you'll never be welcome in this house again!"

"Good. Great. I didn't want to come back here anyway." Vernon's face took on a shocked expression, as if he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to be anywhere in the world beyond the well-manicured confines of Privet Drive. Harry utterly ignored the change in his uncle's demeanor, and pointed his wand at the portly man. "Now let me go."

Uncle Vernon grinned nastily. "And where would you go, boy? I remember that letter last year. They'll never have you back at that school of yours. Not now. You've nowhere else to go!"

Harry blinked, and for a moment, he was at a loss. Uncle Vernon was right. He'd never be able to go back to Hogwarts. In fact, they'd probably send him to prison. He'd never see his friends again. Then he recovered himself. He had no intention letting things revert to the way they were before his Hogwarts letter, not after he'd seen what was possible. He continued pointing his wand at his uncle, and although his mind was racing, his voice was firm.

"I don't care, uncle. Anything's better than this place, and as I'm already quite probably expelled, I see no reason I shouldn't curse you into a quivering mass of jelly. No doubt it would be an improvement." Harry had no intention of doing so unless absolutely necessary. Being expelled was hardly the worst thing that could happen to him, but Uncle Vernon didn't know that. The portly man released his grip in horror, and Harry took advantage of the momentary lapse to slip out the front door and into the night.

He hurried down the street dragging his heavy trunk behind him, and he made it to Wisteria Walk several blocks away before it really sank in that he had nowhere to go. He had a few wizarding coins in the bottom of his trunk, but there was little hope that he'd be able to convince any nearby shopkeepers to accept them. Even if he could, he'd no doubt end up in even more trouble for violating the International Statutes of Secrecy.

He dropped his trunk in some unfortunate neighbor's hydrangea bushes and sat down on it to think. He had his wand and a few Galleons in his trunk, so he knew that he could probably manage to get by in the wizarding world for a little while, but he had no Muggle money and no means of getting any. Harry knew that hed have to try to get to Gringotts, but without any Muggle money, his only options were to walk to London or to attempt to travel by magic. Neither choice was appealing. Even living relatively close to London, it would take several days to reach it on foot, and that was without factoring in his heavy trunk. Flying was out of the question due to the full moon.

As he sat and pondered this seemingly intractable problem, he realized there had been no sign of either his aunt or uncle coming to look for him. He guessed that they had well and truly given up on him. He wondered briefly what they would tell the neighbors, but the thought was quickly driven from his mind when he sensed danger nearby. He stood quickly and clutched his wand, keeping it carefully out of sight.

He detected faint sounds and hints of movement from the alleyway across the street. He raised his wand in a defensive posture, and at that moment a cat streaked out of the alley and up the street. _'Mr. Paws! Damn that woman and her miserable cats!'_

Harry had no time to continue his mental rant at Mrs. Figg. The next instant, an enormous purple and silver monstrosity of a triple-decker bus appeared, with a deafening bang, directly in front of him. "Bloody Hell!"

A gangly, pimply young man who couldn't have been a day over twenty stepped out of the bus. He began speaking without even looking at Harry.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor this evening." Stan finished his obviously prepared speech and looked around. He was obviously startled to see Harry, though whether it was Harry's relatively small stature or obviously defensive posture that surprised the conductor would have been impossible to say.

Harry was confused about the exact purpose of the strange vehicle before him until one of Tom's memories surfaced. The teenage Voldemort had snuck out of Hogwarts one night in January of his fifth year to..._'Oh. Best not think about that.'_ Harry shuddered involuntarily at the memory of Tom's depredations. He noticed Stan giving him a strange look, and realized that he hadn't said anything yet.

"Er, right. How much to get to London, then?"

"Five sickles, but for seven you gets a toofbrush, and fer ten you kin 'ave 'ot chocolate."

Harry was sorely tempted by the hot chocolate. He hadn't had any sweets since leaving Hogwarts, but he was on the run, and he reluctantly decided it would be best to conserve his meager funds. "Right, I need to go to the Leaky Cauldron. I'll have to pass on the toothbrush and the chocolate, though." Harry climbed aboard the bus, and immediately realized it was like no bus he'd ever seen. Aside from the fact that it had three levels instead of the usual two, it appeared to be much larger on the inside than the out, and it was filled with twin beds. Harry noted gratefully that most of the beds were empty, which he assumed meant that he wouldn't have to wait long before arriving in London.

Stan led Harry to a bunk, apparently at random, and Harry began rooting through his trunk, looking for his money bag. Stan, being a polite fellow, attempted to make small talk while waiting for Harry's fare.

"'Ere, whatcho say your name was, again?"

"I didn't, actually." Harry looked up from his trunk a moment later and caught Stan looking at him strangely. He realized that he was going to have to give some sort of answer or risk giving away his fugitive status. He cast about for a safe answer and used the first name that came to mind. "It's Dean. Dean Thomas." Harry silently prayed that Stan hadn't heard of his Muggleborn roommate. Even a cursory glance by someone who knew Dean would give away the ruse.

"Well, pleased to meet you, Mr. Thomas. I'm Stan Shunpike, an' this 'ere's Ernie Prang," Stan said, gesturing at the driver.

"Nice to meet you, Stan." Harry noticed the driver peering at him in the rearview mirror, nodded briefly and added, "You too, Ernie." Harry finally managed to locate his money bag, and carefully extracted five Sickles. He handed them over and set about counting his remaining funds. To his dismay, Harry found that he had only a Galleon, seven Sickles and a handful of Knuts. He sighed. It would get him through the night, but it wouldn't go much further than that. He hoped the goblins would be willing to let him access his money. He didnt know what he would do if they refused.

Finished with the limited planning he could do without knowing how the goblins would react to seeing him, Harry glanced up and caught sight of Stan's newspaper. Aside from the fact that the conductor was apparently trying to read it upside down, it looked a lot like the Daily Prophet, but Harry had never met anyone who read the paper in the evening before. His curiosity was quickly eclipsed by the realization that the faces on the front page, which was actually the back page at the moment, were eerily similar to the faces of the escaped convicts that had appeared on Uncle Vernon's news program. The only difference was that these pictures were moving. The effect of the headline above their heads, which proclaimed 'ESCAPE!' in 64-point letters, was rather ruined by its cobbled-together appearance, but the intent was unmistakable.

"Hey Stan?"

Stan folded down the side of the newspaper facing Harry enough for his pimply visage to appear over the top and said, "Wha's the trouble, Dean?"

"Who are those people on the front page? They were on the Muggle news."

Stan looked at Harry incredulously. "Well 'course they were on the Muggle news! Minister had to warn 'em, dinnit he? Known Muggle killers they are, aren' they?"

Harry gulped. He'd known they were escaped convicts and considered 'armed and dangerous,' but being 'known Muggle killers' sounded far more ominous. Wizards would have a tremendous advantage over Muggles in most forms of combat, and Harry didn't envy the innocent citizen who might run across them. "Oh. I didn't know that. Who are they?"

"'Oo are they? 'Oo are they?!" Stan asked in a shocked sort of voice, and Harry was slightly insulted by Stan's incredulity. He'd been in no position to learn anything about the larger wizarding world in the two years he'd been at Hogwarts, and he had a feeling that people would be even less forgiving of ignorance from the Boy-Who-Lived than from an anonymous wizard picked up off the side of the road. "This is Sirius Black an' Bellatrix Lestrange! Just escaped from Azkaban, they did! Where you been, Dean?"

Harry glared at Stan, perhaps a bit more vehemently than he'd meant to. He answered in a cold voice, "I'm Muggleborn, if you must know." It wasnt strictly true, of course, but it was the closest Harry could come without a lengthy explanation, and the real Dean was, in fact, Muggleborn.

Stan looked genuinely chagrined, and Harry was instantly reminded that he wasn't dealing with Lucius Malfoy but with a slightly frightened young man only recently out of Hogwarts. "Oh. Sorry Dean, but 's been all over the news. Don't you take the Prophet?"

Harry absently noticed that the conductor's accent improved considerably with a bit of a fright. His obvious discomfort did much to dispel Harry's ire. "My family...well, they don't like magic overmuch. They tolerate it mostly, but it's best not to rub it in their faces."

Stan nodded sagely. "Knew a bloke during me school days 'ose folks was the same way. Name o' Bert. Great chap. Barmy about some Muggle game or other, though. Grass'opper, I think 'e called it."

Harry was consumed by a deep belly-laugh. It was the first time in quite a while he'd felt genuine mirth, and it was good to let it out. As his guffaws subsided, he noticed the conductor looking quite red in the face. He was chagrined to realize hed just been quite rude. "Sorry, Stan. It just struck me as funny. The games called 'cricket', and you're right; Bert must've been a bit barmy. Any game with a scheduled tea break is far too slow for my taste. I'll take a good Quidditch match any day."

Stan laughed in his turn, and Harry noticed that Ernie had joined him.

The atmosphere in the nearly-empty bus improved significantly after that. Harry and Stan spent much of his ride trading jokes about the peculiar habits of Muggles, wizards and, once a charming old lady from Dorset had left the bus, women. Despite its various jerks and jolts, the ride was over far too quickly for Harry's liking. It what seemed like no time, the Knight Bus arrived at Charing Cross Road, and Harry disembarked. He took great care dragging his heavy trunk off of the bus and therefore didn't notice a horribly familiar figure waiting for him on the sidewalk.

"Hello, Harry Potter."

* * *

A/N: A big 'thank you' to my new beta-reader, MinistryMalcontent over at .uk. This is the first chapter done completely in collaboration with him. Chapter 3 was done with both my old beta, werekitten, and MinistryMalcontent. I forgot to mention that in the notes to the last chapter. My apologies to Tom.

Stan's welcome speech is lifted more or less verbatim from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, American Edition, p.33. The name of Harry's account manager is from Frank Herbert's Dune. I think it's exactly the sort of name that goblins would give their children, provided that they were aware of the reference. My theory is that, since the occasional wizard is overly fond of Muggles, there's no reason there shouldn't a goblin here and there with the same predilections.

To the dog lovers out there, I apologize profusely for Petunia. I love dogs myself, but I think it's completely in keeping with Petunia's character that she'd despise them. It was an easy bit of character work to stick in, and I don't think the Dursleys get enough of that it canon. 


	6. Caught!

**Chapter 5: Caught!**

"Hello, Harry Potter."

Harry was struck dumb. _'What are the odds of leaving the Knight Bus and just happening to run smack into the Minister of Magic?'_

Cornelius Fudge was just as overweight as the last time Harry had seen him a few months prior, and his trademark bowler hat looked even more ridiculous among the unremarkable shops along Charing Cross Road. Harry wasn't certain how, but the man confronting him somehow managed to look both self-important and slightly relieved at the same time. Harry was sorely tempted to run and trust his luck to save him, but he realized that the Minister of Magic would never stand on a street in the middle of Muggle London without some sort of bodyguards.

Having little choice but to face the music, Harry took his last step down from the bus, at which point Stan stuck his head out the door and practically shouted, "'ere now Ern! It's Minister Fudge! Whatcho call Dean, Minister?"

The Minister for Magic regarded Stan curiously for a moment before his expression turned condescending. "Don't be foolish, Mr. Shunpike, this is Harry Potter. Thank you very much for picking him up, but I'm afraid we cannot remain on the street. Good evening to you."

"Ern! Joo hear that!? Dean was--"

Whatever Stan had been about to exclaim was cut off when the Knight Bus popped off to wherever it went between stops, leaving Stan's eyebrow behind. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, guiding him firmly into the taproom of the Leaky Cauldron, and he turned to find Fudge regarding him strangely. The Minister's visage mirrored Malfoy's when Harry met him on the Hogwarts Express, and Harry found the experience distinctly unsettling.

"Now then, Mr. Potter," Fudge began, "I'm sure you'll be glad to know that the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad arrived at your aunt and uncle's home at thirteen minutes past eight this evening. Your aunt has been returned to her original shape, and she will have no memory of the incident, so that's that."

"Pity," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" the Minister inquired solicitously. Harry declined to answer. He noticed a disturbing level of similarity between the Minister and Percy Weasley, and he could only hope that Ron's brother didn't turn out to be quite as pompous as Fudge. Unfortunately for the Weasley family, the Gryffindor prefect seemed to be already well on his way.

Suddenly, Harry realized that Fudge was speaking and he hadn't been listening. "Oddly enough," the Minister was saying, "your family did not seem particularly eager to have you returned to them. In fact they insisted quite firmly that you stay away until next summer at least, and they seemed quite reluctant to accept even that. Most peculiar."

Harry chuckled darkly. There was nothing peculiar about that at all, but he was disinclined to disillusion the pompous politician. "In any case," Fudge continued, "the Ministry has arranged for you to stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the duration of the summer, free of charge to you, provided that you confine yourself to Diagon Alley and do not go wandering about Muggle London or in any of the seedier parts of the wizarding district."

This struck Harry as particularly odd. His limited experience with the Ministry of Magic led him to believe that they would simply chuck him in prison without batting an eye. "Er, why?" Fudge regarded Harry strangely, and Harry elaborated, "I broke the law, didn't I? Underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic outside of school."

Fudge laughed, but Harry got the distinct impression that it was forced. "Don't be silly, Harry. May I call you Harry?" Without waiting for a response, Fudge continued, "The Ministry doesn't send people to Azkaban for a bit of accidental magic here and there. Not to worry."

"But last summer I got a warning letter from the Ministry because a house-elf--"

Fudge shot a calculating look at Harry and began none-too-gently leading him toward the staircase at the back of the bar. "Surely you don't _want_ to go to Azkaban, do you Harry?"

"Well no, of course not, but--"

"Excellent." Fudge beamed and clasped a friendly hand on Harry's shoulder. The young man on the receiving end narrowly avoided shuddering in disgust. "That's settled then, but I must say, running away from home the way you did was quite careless. Quite careless indeed, especially under the current circumstances."

"Er, the 'current circumstances,' Minister?"

"There are criminals on the loose, Harry."

"You mean Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Fudge smiled unconvincingly. "Yes. Been keeping up with the news, I see. Wonderful thing to see in an up and coming young man. You have promise, lad." Harry glared at Fudge's patronizing tone. "Yes, well, the thing is," the portly man hastily continued, "the Ministry has very little idea where they might be at the moment, you see. I hope you can appreciate the need for caution."

"But what have Black and Lestrange got to do with me?"

Fudge blanched. "Nothing specific, of course," he responded hurriedly, "but they were among You-Know-Who's most loyal supporters. Neither would hesitate to kill you if you should meet them in the street."

Harry nodded, finally understanding Fudge's insistence that he keep to Diagon Alley. In the wizarding district there would be plenty of adult witches and wizards to look after him and make sure he kept out of trouble. "I'll be careful, Minister."

Fudge clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder in what he no doubt intended to be a companionable gesture. Harry found it rather disgusting. "I'm glad to hear that, my boy. Here's your room."

Harry twisted free of Fudge's hand and opened the door to his room. He was surprised to see that his trunk had already made it up to his room. He was certain that magic had been involved, but he had no idea how it was accomplished. He suspected it was similar to the way the students' trunks somehow made it from the Hogwarts Express to their dorms without anyone appearing to move them. He nearly dismissed it as just another quirk of the magical world when one of Tom's memories tugged at his consciousness. _'House-elves.'_ It was quite a surprising realization. He'd never imagined Dobby making a particularly helpful servant, but as far as he could remember, the Hogwarts house-elves were service and efficiency incarnate.

Shaking off his distraction, Harry bid Fudge a good night and closed the door in the smarmy politician's face.

* * *

Harry's birthday began sluggishly at 6 AM when he was awakened by the sun on his face and a frustrated rustling of feathers. Hedwig had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron the morning after Harry did, and he had dutifully gone to Eeylops to buy her a new cage and a bag of owl treats. He knew it was a bit of a waste, seeing as how he already owned a perfectly good cage that would be returned to him at the end of the summer, but Hedwig needed a place to perch, and he figured the Weasleys could do with an owl cage if they ever needed to travel with Errol.

Hedwig had adapted relatively quickly to life at the Leaky Cauldron, but she had been oddly restless for the previous few days. At the time, he had assumed she was longing for open, green spaces where she could go hunting, but when she stopped behaving strangely on the morning of his birthday and just looked disappointed, he realized what had happened. _'She must've been waiting to fetch a present, but no one needed her.'_

"Sorry, girl. I know you were looking forward to carrying some post this summer." A plan began taking shape in his head, and he added, "How'd you like to take a letter to McGonagall for me?"

Hedwig perked up immediately, and Harry chuckled. "I haven't written it yet, but it should be ready by tonight. Have a good sleep, and I'll have it finished when you wake up."

Hedwig blinked in disappointment before closing her eyes and settling in to sleep the day away. When he glanced sleepily around the room, Harry noticed a pair of barn owls had arrived during the night and perched on the foot of his bed. He divested the first owl of not one but two letters, one bearing the Hogwarts school seal. He didn't bother opening that one, as it obviously contained his booklist for the coming year. When he turned to the second letter, his breath caught in his throat when he recognized the loopy, slanted writing of the Hogwarts headmaster. Dumbledore had never sent him personal correspondence before, and Harry was immensely curious. He quickly broke the seal and read:

_My Dear Harry,_

I have recently had a peculiar and somewhat alarming conversation with Professor McGonagall concerning your relationships with young Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. Professor McGonagall expressed surprise that you appear to be keeping at least one particularly large secret from them, and that this secret has affected how the three of you relate to one another.

I said very little on the subject to Professor McGonagall beyond expressing my opinion that it is in the nature of young people to keep secrets, particularly young people just entering their teenage years. While that is certainly true, I suspect that the secret which lies between you and your friends is rather larger than most. If that is the case, I hope you will allow me to offer you a piece of advice.

It has been my experience with past students of my acquaintance, particularly students possessed of such extraordinary gifts as those with which you appear to have been blessed, that they often share a common fault. Many of them fail to develop healthy, lasting friendships based on trust. In fact, some of them go so far as to eschew such friendships in search of something they feel is more important, perhaps in a quest for greatness or notoriety. I have been pleased to see you avoiding this trap during the brief time since you returned to the magical world, and I would not wish to see you fall into it now.

I do not counsel blind trust, to be sure. Some secrets are not meant to be shared, but when your heart tells you to confide a secret in those who have earned your confidence, it is often wise to pay heed. Friendships like yours with Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger come along very rarely, and even I, who have been blessed with a great count of years, cannot boast of many. When they do come along, such friendships should be treasured and should never be cast aside lightly.

Felicitations on the anniversary of your birth.

Yours Most Sincerely,  
Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore  
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot  
Winner of this, keeper of that  
et cetera, et cetera  
ad infinitum

Harry chuckled when he reached the end of Dumbledore's letter. He was instantly reminded of the slightly mad old man who welcomed him to his first meal at Hogwarts. It was reassuring to be reminded that, despite everything he had seen, Dumbledore still retained his sense of humor. It was with slight reluctance that Harry set aside Dumbledore's missive and turned to the second owl. He would consider the headmaster's words later.

He broke into a broad grin when he discovered that it carried a package from Hagrid, who had apparently remembered Harry's birthday. His spirits were momentarily dampened by the realization that there were no notes or cards from any of his other friends, but he reasoned that he couldn't really expect the Weasleys to send anything all the way from Egypt, and Hermione was still angry with him.

Shaking off his temporary melancholy, Harry opened the roughly-wrapped package to discover a most unusual gift. Hagrid had sent him something called _The Monster Book of Monsters_, and while Harry appreciated the thought, the book was more than a little curious. Harry got the distinct impression that it was slightly alive, which left him quite wary after his experience with Tom Riddle's diary. That impression was reinforced when the book tried to bite him only a moment after opening it.

Harry quickly got over his shock and bound the book with a length of rope he usually used to keep his trousers up, though he fortunately had no need of it while wearing robes. Once he got the opportunity to examine his present a bit more closely, Harry got the feeling that the book was not really dangerous but only slightly hungry. Given the book's title, he found that thought quite disconcerting enough.

On the whole, Harry enjoyed his month as a guest of the Leaky Cauldron. He spent most of his days wandering aimlessly around Diagon Alley. He was careful to remain on guard, and he always carried his wand with him, but there was no sign of either Black or Lestrange. He was slightly curious why they hadn't made at least some attempt to sow chaos at the center of the British wizarding world, but he certainly wasn't going to question his good fortune.

He spent most of his days sitting in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, chatting with the proprietor and enjoying the occasional complimentary sundae. When Harry asked Fortescue about the free ice cream, the genial man just smiled and said it was "Good for business." Harry frowned at the idea that the older man had taken advantage of him, but he quickly realized that he would have smiled and waved at the occasional customer in the course of standing there chatting with merchant, so there was really no harm done.

He was surprised and thoroughly pleased to discover that Fortescue was something of an expert on the medieval and early modern history of the wizarding world, which led to several fascinating conversations about the rise of the modern wizarding world. He was even more pleased but not a bit surprised to discover that Ollivander was an expert on nearly everything else. Harry told himself that he would corner the old wandmaker one day and find out just how old the cagey wandmaker really was. As no particularly good ideas for putting that plan into action occurred to him, Harry contented himself with picking the old man's brain. Ollivander seemed to take great pleasure in telling Harry about the wide swath cut through the wizarding world by a young, adventurous Albus Dumbledore. He was considerably graver when relating the events of the war with Grindelwald and the accompanying chaos that descended upon the Muggle world. Harry wasn't sure why Ollivander felt the need to tell him such a painful story, but the elderly wandmaker seemed to think it was important. Harry couldn't help but wonder if the insightful old man knew more than he was letting on.

During a lull in their conversation one day, Harry asked Ollivander for his advice concerning the strange book Hagrid sent him, to which the old man responded by laughing heartily. "Hagrid has a good soul, Harry, though I admit that he has a strange liking for creatures most of us would consider to be simple monsters. I suspect it is his Giant blood coming out in him."

Harry gasped. Most people in the wizarding world considered giants to be vicious, mindless brutes. Even Tom had hated them, though Harry was not certain how much of that was simply due to their inherent resistance to most magic. Ollivander, however, perceived Harry's worry and waved it off. "Don't fret, Harry. Giants are quite violent by nature, to be certain, but much of their fearsome reputation comes not because they are bellicose but from their refusal to be controlled by wizards. You have known Hagrid, at least, for quite some time. Do you really believe that he would do anything to harm you?"

Harry shook his head, though he was still a bit dubious. He knew Hagrid would never hurt him on purpose, but the gentle giant seemed to lack a normal perspective on what might be considered dangerous. Ollivander laughed, apparently perceiving Harry's thoughts, but Harry could not detect any intrusion in his mind. _'Curious.'_

"Your book just wants affection, Harry. Show it a bit of attention and it will soon revere you as a loyal pet reveres its master."

"Mr. Ollivander," Harry began, "why didn't you tell the people at Flourish and Blott's? The Monster Books of Monsters are tearing each other apart in the store."

Ollivander chuckled again. "It amuses me to watch the bookseller struggle, Harry. It was remarkably foolish of them to lay in a large supply of such obviously magical books without first learning about their care and feeding, if you will. You are, of course, free to tell them yourself if you are so inclined."

Over the following days, Harry took Ollivander's advice concerning the care of his new textbook. He talked to the book about a great many things including his dislike for his relatives and his concern for Ginny's state of mind. He noticed that the book eventually stopped struggling in its bindings. When he released it, Harry was surprised to feel rather than hear it purr at him, and he tried nervously to stroke the book as he used to stroke Mrs. Figg's cats. As Ollivander predicted, the book soon showed him signs of affection and even adoration. On occasion, it even went so far as spontaneously opening to sections on some of the more fascinating creatures detailed within its pages. Harry found the descriptions of dementors and erklings quite horrifying, but he had to admit that Hagrid was at least partially right about dragons. They really were fascinating creatures, though he didn't expect he'd ever feel the need to keep one as a pet.

Of course, Harry didn't spend all of his time learning obscure bits of historical and magical trivia from the aged denizens of Diagon Alley. Once his Hogwarts letter arrived, and he was pleased to find that he had done quite well on all three of his exams, he forced himself to be responsible and complete his school shopping. He detested the interminable hours spent in Madam Malkin's being fitted for new robes, but he gritted his teeth and endured it. He'd grown several inches over the past year, and he couldn't go back to school dressed like a ruffian. Malfoy would eat him alive.

He found shopping for books far more enjoyable. Already possessing a complete set of Lockhart's books and the Monster Book of Monsters, he had only a few new textbooks to acquire before being free to explore the more obscure areas of the shop. Since he had the opportunity to spread his shopping over many days, he spent nearly a full day poking around the bookshop. He made sure to find a good introduction to the theory of human Transfiguration, in keeping with his resolution to perform better in Professor McGonagall's class. He also counted himself incredibly fortunate when he came across an obscure book on emotion in magic tucked away in a dark corner in the back of the shop.

He spent by far the most time, aside from his chats with Ollivander, in Quality Quidditch Supplies ogling the new Firebolt. He was sorely tempted to ask for the price, which was available only 'upon request.' Fortunately, he'd learned enough from his aunt and uncle to know that if he had to worry about the price of such things, he certainly couldn't afford to buy it. He did, however, manage to find a broomstick servicing kit for himself and a birthday present for Ginny. He'd had nothing to give her the previous summer and no time in which to purchase one, which he had found horribly embarrassing. He was determined not to slight his friend again.

Harry was always especially amused after his visits to the Magical Menagerie. Watching the acrobatics of the trained rats was always good for the laugh, and the hauntingly beautiful chorus of the magical frogs touched his soul in ways no other music had ever done. He wondered how it would sound if someone bought only one or two of the frogs. He even went so far as to ask the shopkeeper about it. The woman laughed at him and told him that she wouldn't sell them separately for that very reason.

* * *

Harry was stunned when he came down for breakfast on the morning of August 31st to an unexpected din. "Surprise!"

He gaped. The taproom was full of Weasleys. He looked around in shock and tried to cajole his fuzzy brain into producing some kind of speech. "What...what are you all doing here?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled broadly at Harry and pulled him into a tight embrace. "We've just returned from Egypt, dear. Arthur heard you'd spent the summer here, and we thought you might like to see Ron and the boys for a day before you go back to school."

Harry was thrilled. He couldn't wait to share some of his discoveries with Ron, and he'd been itching to explore Knockturn Alley. He was certain that the twins would jump at the opportunity to go with him. "That's brilliant, Mrs. Weasley, but what about Ginny?"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head and looked slightly apologetic. "Ginny's had a bit of a growth spurt lately, Harry. We'll have to find her some new robes."

"But that won't take all day, will it? Ginny can meet up with us afterwards, right?" The girl in question flushed slightly but smiled brightly in response. Her face fell when her mother replied.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sure Ginny would like that very much, but it usually takes ages to find good robes that fit well at the second-hand store." At Ginny's crestfallen expression, Mrs. Weasley turned to her daughter and added, "I'm sorry, dear. I won't say you _can't_ meet up with the boys, but we've got to find your robes first. We can't have your ankles showing under your robes," she finished seriously.

Harry was perplexed. He'd never heard that the wizarding world was quite so old fashioned as that. Ginny nodded in response to her mother's admonition, looking devastated, and Harry interjected, "Don't worry, Ginny. I'll make sure the twins pick you up some new inks for your stationary set."

Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust, and the twins interjected, "Oi! Don't be volunteering us to go buying dodgy purple ink for our ickle sister, Potter!" Ron shot him a warning look from the far end of the table. Picking up amusing trinkets for their little sister was clearly not on any of the Weasleys boys' itineraries.

Harry hissed across the table to Ginny, "I'll suggest fireworks instead, but don't tell your mum." Ginny's face lit up at this suggestion, and Harry added, "Hey, how did our little joke on Ron go?"

Ginny grinned. "He was through the roof when he saw that Agrippa card. He didn't even look at it carefully. He just grabbed and started running around the kitchen, whooping like a madman. It was a great trick, but I'm not sure it was quite fair. He still twists in a weird way when he smells bacon. It's funny really, but it is going to wear off eventually, right?"

Harry laughed. "The potion would've worn off weeks ago. It must be in his head. He's not still oinking, is he?"

Ginny giggled and shook her head, but her good mood was quickly dampened again when Mrs. Weasley arrived. "Alright, Ginny, let's find you some robes so you can try to join the boys this afternoon."

Ginny grumbled something about overbearing mothers, but she dutifully followed Mrs. Weasley out the back exit of the Leaky Cauldron toward Diagon Alley. As soon as their mum was safely out of sight, the twins erupted from their seats with their characteristic exuberance. "Well that's our cue. We'll meet up with you fine fellows later."

"Must be off. We're due to meet Lee Jordan at Gambol & Japes in...Oh bugger."

"It was three minutes ago, wasn't it Fred?"

"Off we go then."

With that, Fred and George disappeared so quickly they looked like nothing more than twin, redheaded blurs. Percy stood as soon as they left, though he moved with affected dignity rather than the boundless energy of his departed brothers. "That reminds me, I am due to meet Penelope at the bookshop in a few minutes. I am afraid that I must bid you good day, gentlemen."

Percy strolled sedately out of the bar with only a hint of his usual strut, leaving Ron and Harry more or less alone. Harry moved down to the far end of the table to sit across from Ron, but he found himself curiously short of words for his best mate. "Er, have a good summer then, Ron?"

Ron, however, apparently suffered no similar handicap. He grinned around his eggs and launched into a long and detailed account. "It was wicked, Harry! The first few weeks weren't so great with everyone so worried about Ginny, but once we got to Egypt, it was bloody fantastic! Ginny was a right ball of energy once she saw Bill, and you wouldn't believe some of the curses those old Egyptian wizards left on their tombs.

"There was a Muggle with three heads in one, and there was another one Mum wouldn't let us into! She wouldn't even tell us why, and Bill just stood there and nodded. Didn't even try to change her mind, the great prat."

Harry grinned at Ron's account, but he felt the need to defend the absent Weasley family members. "Maybe she was worried that whatever was in there might scare you."

Ron looked indignant at that notion. "Rubbish! There's nothing in those old tombs that would scare me!" Harry's friend puffed up his thin chest noticeably.

Harry chuckled at Ron's antics before sobering and giving his friend a penetrating look. He looked oddly like Dumbledore, if he had known it. "What if there were spiders, Ron?" Ron paled, and Harry relented. "Besides," the younger boy continued, "I didn't mean just you. Maybe she was worried about how Ginny would react."

Ron nodded sagely, and Harry was momentarily worried that the conversation would take a morbid turn and spoil the mood of the day, but Ron's face quickly brightened and he began relating a story about how Ginny had talked the twins into putting a Freezing Hex on Percy's pants. The Gryffindor prefect had walked around looking constipated for an entire day before confessing the problem to his mother. Harry roared with laughter as he imagined the look on Percy's face as he asked Mrs. Weasley to unfreeze his underpants. Privately, Harry thought that it would only have made Percy more stand-offish and stodgy, but he had to admit that the elder Weasley did deserve to be brought down a peg or two.

By the time Ron finished telling stories about the family holiday in Egypt, he had finished his breakfast. Harry led the way out the back of the tavern and pulled out his wand to tap the brick that would open the entrance to Diagon Alley. "Where to first?"

"I dunno. Scabbers has been a bit ill, lately. He's lost weight and some of his fur's coming out. I reckon he must've picked something up in Egypt. Anywhere around here good for that sort of thing?"

Harry nodded. "You want the Magical Menagerie. The lady there's really good with animals. I bet she'll fix him up in a jiffy."

Ron grinned in gratitude, and Harry was pleased to realize that the initial awkwardness between them had dissipated during Ron's tale. They chatted genially about nothing on their way to the Magical Menagerie. Harry gave Ron a few of the highlights of his summer, and the taller boy was practically drooling at Harry's description of the Firebolt.

"I've got to see it, Harry! I know I'll never own one, but just to stand next to an international standard racing broom..."

Harry grinned at his friend's enthusiasm. It was nice to have Ron back after the unpleasantness at the end of the previous term. He promised that they'd stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies to see it later in the day. The earlier awkwardness came crashing back when Harry and Ron arrived at the Magical Menagerie to find Hermione on her way out, carrying an ugly ginger cat and cooing at it affectionately. All three friends stopped and stared at each other for an instant. Hermione looked in confusion from Ron to Harry, as if she couldn't, or wouldn't, believe her eyes. Both boys stared back at her in shock. Neither had even considered the possibility that they might run into Hermione during their last day of freedom.

"Er...hi, Hermione," Ron stammered.

"Hello Ronald," she answered primly. "How was your summer?"

Ron smiled in spite of the awkward moment. "It was brill! Dad won some Galleons from Gringotts, and we went to Egypt to visit my brother Bill. The twins tried to lock Percy in Khafre's pyramid! Mum caught them at it and let him out, though. Pity."

Hermione was shocked. "Ron! That was terribly irresponsible of them! What if had really gotten stuck in there? He could have starved to death!"

"Don't be silly, Hermione. The twins would never really hurt someone. And Bill's a curse-breaker. He could've gotten him out, no sweat. Besides, Percy's a git. He deserved it."

"How can you say that, Ron? Percy's your brother!"

"Doesn't mean he's not a git," Ron answered mulishly.

Harry interrupted the brewing conflict before it could get out of hand. "Have a nice holiday, Hermione?"

Hermione's expression went from exasperation to coldness with remarkable efficiency. "Yes I did, Harry. How did you do on your exams?"

Harry fought the sudden urge to grimace, but couldn't suppress a sigh of frustration. He should have guessed that his bookish friend would skip right past the usual pleasantries and cut to the chase. "I did fine, Hermione."

She folded her arms and fixed him with a penetrating stare. "What exactly does 'fine' mean, Harry?"

Harry cocked an ironic eyebrow. "I got two 'O's and an 'E.'" Hermione's jaw dropped, and Ron turned to stare at Harry. It would have been impossible to say who was more surprised. Harry thought he should've been insulted, but he'd had enough time to prepare that his friends' reactions disappointed but didn't surprise him. "Is that good enough?"

Hermione sputtered. "I...well...I mean...of course it's wonderful, but don't you think you could've done better if you'd waited until the proper time to take them?"

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It seemed that nothing he could do would live up to Hermione's standards. He knew he should've anticipated that, but he'd hoped that at least some part of her would be proud of him. "I really don't think so, Hermione. I just don't have the talent at Potions to get an 'O' on one of Snape's exams. He asked me to alter recipes on the spot to mitigate side-effects or extend their effectiveness. I just don't have the intuition to do that without working through the correspondences, but I'm sure I'll do fine on the O.W.L."

They all stared at each other, and Hermione wore a slight scowl. No one was really sure what to say, but Ron finally broke the tension. "Alright, well I've still got to get some medicine for Scabbers. Want to wait, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded. "Sure, Ron. What's wrong with Scabbers?"

Ron frowned. "He's been losing weight ever since we went to Egypt, and now his fur's falling out. Dad reckons he got hit with a bit of left-over magic in one of the tombs."

Hermione turned and walked back into the store, followed closely by Ron and Harry. Ron walked up to the counter and started talking to the clerk, and Hermione stood next to him but didn't say anything. A great deal of her attention seemed to be required to restrain the squirming ball of orange fur in her arms. Harry was left to entertain himself, and he ended up having a moderately boring conversation with cobra at the back of the store.

Harry kept enough awareness of the events happening around him that he noticed Ron had quickly finished talking to the shopkeeper and began having what looked to be a whispered argument with Hermione. Harry was tempted to sneak up behind Hermione and find out what they were talking about, but he wasn't prepared to sink to quite that level of rudeness. They eventually seemed to come to some sort of accord, however, and Ron called, "Hey Harry! You ready to go?"

Harry quickly made his way over to his friends and tried to pretend he hadn't been staring at them. "Yep, all set. You'd think it'd be interesting to talk to a cobra," he continued in a hushed tone as they left the shop, "but really they're dead boring. All they care about is food and warmth."

"Well you can't blame him, Harry," Hermione chastised. "It's in his nature to be interested in those things."

"Actually," Harry responded, his green eyes flashing in amusement, "it was a _her_, and I'm not blaming her. I'm just saying it's not an interesting topic of conversation."

Harry broke the awkward silence that followed this pronouncement by repeating his earlier question. "How was your summer, Hermione?"

That launched Hermione into an extended and excruciatingly detailed description of her summer activities, which seemed to consist primarily of lying on a beach on the French Riviera and studying both Muggle and magical subjects. Harry wouldn't normally have minded Hermione talking about her studying, but even he couldn't stand the degree of detail to which she wanted to discuss books he'd never read. Ron looked like he was actually in physical pain after a while.

Hermione's rambling answer occupied the entirety of the walk to Fortescue's as well as most of their various frosty treats. Harry marveled at Hermione's ability to breathe, let alone eat, while not appearing to pause in her recitation. It wasn't until Scabbers poked his nose out of Ron's pocket to retrieve some errant sprinkles from their stone table that Hermione's train of thought was derailed.

As soon as Scabbers appeared, the hideous, ginger cat in Hermione's arms began to squirm, and Hermione interrupted her rambling to admonish him. "Crookshanks, hold still!"

His squirming didn't abate. In fact, it increased in intensity. A moment later, the incorrigible feline wriggled free of Hermione's arms and bounded across the narrow table. With a poorly-placed paw, Crookshanks managed to up-end Hermione's unfinished sundae and send the remnants flying into Harry's face.

Surprisingly, it was not Harry's discomfiture that attracted his friends' attention but an imminent attack on Scabbers by Crookshanks.

"Crookshanks, no!" Hermione cried.

At the same time, Ron shouted incoherently and made a grab for Scabbers. He successfully pushed the rat back into his pocket, but Crookshanks was not deterred. He leapt at Ron, who barely managed to get an arm up to protect himself. The flying furball latched onto Ron's arm with all twenty of his claws.

"Ow!" Ron cried. "Stop that you bloody orange menace!"

Ron went to grab the aggressive feline with the hand that had been protecting Scabbers, but he was surprised to feel Hermione's strong grip seize his wrist. The older girl had hit a growth spurt over the summer, giving her a considerable size advantage over Ron, who was only just beginning to grow into the impressive physiques exhibited by his older brothers.

"Don't you _dare_ hurt my cat, Ronald Weasley!" Hermione shrieked in indignation.

Meanwhile, Ron continued to shake his other arm in an attempt to dislodge the feline in question. "Don't hurt him!? Are you mad? What about him hurting me?" Ron demanded furiously.

"You're a big boy, Ron. I'm sure you can handle a few claw marks."

"Get him off of me, Hermione, or I'll squash him!"

Harry stared in shock at the scene in front of him, ice cream dripping down his face. He'd never expected to see Ron and Hermione resort to a physical altercation. The shoppers in the Alley appeared to be torn between laughing and shouting at them for causing a scene.

Out of nowhere, Harry heard a voice mutter, "_Petrificus Totalis_." Crookshanks, Ron and Hermione all froze and assumed postures of rigid attention. For the humans, that meant legs together and arms at their sides, while for Crookshanks, it meant all four legs straight and locked.

Harry gaped in surprise at the stack of stiffened bodies lying on the ground, and it was a long minute before he was able to formulate a coherent response. "What happened?"

Fortescue chuckled. "I meant to freeze the cat attacking young Mr. Weasley, but I forgot a very important lesson I learned from Professor Merrythought." At Harry's curious look, the older wizard continued, "It is a rather rare effect. Full-body hexes like the Full Body Bind can be transmitted from one person to another through skin-to-skin contact. It would seem that skin-to-claw contact is also sufficient."

Fortescue quickly un-Petrified Ron and Hermione, but he left Crookshanks under the jinx. Hermione glared at each of the three wizards in her vicinity and huffed. "How could you just jinx my cat like that, Mr. Fortescue?"

The elderly wizard looked surprised at Hermione's ire. "Your cat was attacking young Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. You didn't want me to just let him keep going, did you? I do believe there is blood on Mr. Weasley's robes," he concluded pointedly.

Hermione's expression flickered to surprise momentarily before her mask of frustration returned. "Of course I didn't want Crookshanks to attack Ron, but couldn't you have done something besides jinxing him?"

Mr. Fortescue raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "I believe your friend Mr. Weasley tried precisely that, and you grabbed his arm to stop him."

"I didn't mean hitting him either! Couldn't someone have done something non-violent?"

"I wasn't going to hit him!" Ron objected. "I was just going to pull him off of me."

Hermione turned to glare at Ron, but the shopkeeper spoke before she could. "I suspect it was best that you didn't get the chance to try that, Mr. Weasley. I believe you would have found the sensation of having chunks of your arm torn out quite uncomfortable."

Ron paled at the thought and looked slightly green around the edges. "Yes, I would."

Hermione folded her arms and said nothing. Harry was flummoxed. _'Why's she so upset? It's not like the ugly bugger's actually hurt or anything.'_

Fortescue stared shrewdly at Hermione for a long moment before relenting. "Very well, Miss Granger. I will reverse the hex on your cat, but do try to keep him under control. It is unnatural, the way he attempted to attack your friend. I suspect he will try to do so again."

"Don't be silly, sir." Harry was about to object that this concern was not silly at all when Hermione continued, "He didn't attack Ron. He tried to attack Ron's _rat_. You can hardly blame him for that. He is a cat, after all."

All three wizards looked at Hermione incredulously. Ron was the first one courageous, or foolish, enough to speak to her. "_I_ can! I've had Scabbers a lot longer than you've had that ugly menace you call a cat, and I don't want anything to happen to him!"

Hermione visibly bristled at the imprecations on her pet. "He's a cat, Ronald. It's in his nature to chase rats. And I think he's beautiful," she concluded, daring anyone to argue with her.

In the awkward silence that followed this pronouncement, Fortescue waved his wand at Crookshanks and muttered, _"Finite Incantatem."_ Predictably, Crookshanks righted himself immediately and tried to race toward Ron, but Harry had anticipated that. Quick as a flash, he seized the cat by the scruff of his neck and turned to face Hermione, his expression serious.

Hermione, however, was not paying attention to Harry but rather to the furious yowling and spitting now coming from her cat. "Let him go, Harry! You're hurting him."

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend. "It doesn't hurt, Hermione. Mrs. Figg picks her cats up like this all the time. He's just angry 'cause I won't let him attack Scabbers." He looked thoughtful for a moment and added, "I think we'd better head back to the Menagerie so you can buy him a carrying case. I don't fancy having to walk around like this all day."

Hermione shook her head. "I already bought a case for the train, but he didn't like it when I put him in it earlier, and it's such a nice day. I can't stand to have him locked up."

Harry grimaced at Hermione's irrational behavior. "Ron's not the only person with a pet your cat might like to eat," he pointed out reasonably. "Do you really want to explain to Neville why you let Crookshanks eat his toad?"

"Rubbish!" Hermione snapped. "Owls eat rats and toads, too, but I don't see you keeping Hedwig locked up while you're in the alley."

Harry looked around pointedly and was about to respond, but Fortescue interrupted. "I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure will be a fascinating conversation, but I'm going to have to ask all of you to leave. You're driving away my business." He looked apologetically at Harry, who was far too busy with the struggling feline in his care to pay attention to little things like social niceties.

"Little help here," Harry grunted in frustration. He drew looks of alarm from Ron, who sheltered his left pocket protectively, and exasperation from Hermione.

"Oh, just give him to me, Harry." She reached out to grab Crookshanks about the middle. She gave a cry of pain as he sunk his claws into her arm and attempted to use the leverage to escape Harry's grip. "Maybe I'd better put him in his case, after all," she admitted reluctantly.

Together, Harry and Hermione managed to wrestle the uncooperative feline into his cage and lock the door, but they both received a number of painful injuries in the process. Harry sucked on the meat of his hand, where he had a particularly deep scratch, as they made their way down the street. Once the bleeding had slowed, he removed his hand from his mouth and said, "Maybe we'd better leave him Petrified until he's in the cage, next time." Harry chuckled, but a furious spitting sound came from the cage at Hermione's feet, and the joke fell flat.

Ron looked thoughtfully at the hissing crate. "Do you think he understands us?" Harry shrugged, and Hermione gave Ron a condescending look that said the answer should have been perfectly obvious.

Once Crookshanks was safely in his crate, Hermione clearly considered the matter of his attack on Ron closed. "Now that we've finished our ice cream," she began excitedly, "let's go to Flourish and Blott's. I still need to get my schoolbooks, and I've heard there's a fascinating new book about the Dragon Pox Epidemic of 1411 that's just come out!"

Ron groaned, but Harry answered before he could object. "Sure, Hermione. That sounds like a good idea. I've already got my schoolbooks, but I think Ron needs his too." Harry elbowed Ron significantly before adding, "And Quality Quidditch Supplies is on the way. I promised Ron we'd stop in to look at the new Firebolt, so I guess that's a plan."

Hermione scowled. She hadn't planned on doing anything quite so masculine as ogling racing brooms during her day, and she wasn't at all pleased that Harry had managed to maneuver her into it. Still, she allowed herself to be dragged into the store after only a cursory objection.

* * *

The rest of the day passed more or less uneventfully. Hermione eventually cajoled Ron into visiting the bookshop, with some help from Harry, with threats about what his mum would do if she found out he hadn't bought his textbooks. Harry had already spent a good deal of time over the summer browsing the shelves, so he took pity on Ron after an hour or so and extricated Hermione from the book on concealment magics she had buried herself in.

Late that afternoon, the trio narrowly avoided running into Draco Malfoy on their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Ron and Harry were vocally in favor of confronting the blond Slytherin, but Hermione dragged them into the nearby stationery shop instead. By the time Hermione selected precisely the correct quills, parchment and ink for her supply package, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had finished with their shopping and passed by the window on their way to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Once Hermione had paid for her purchase, Harry quickly said, "Ginny and your mum just walked past, Ron. Why don't we catch them up for a while before we have to be back for dinner?"

Hermione responded enthusiastically, so despite Ron's objections, the trio left the store and followed the female Weasleys. Of course, as soon as Hermione realized where they were heading, she changed her mind saying, "We really ought to be getting back. It's nearly dinner time already, and I don't want to carry around all these books any longer. My arms are killing me."

Ron laughed and said, "But just a minute ago you were all for meeting Mum and Ginny. I'm sure you'll survive for twenty minutes." He added something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Serves you right," but Harry took pity on his friend.

"Come on, Hermione. I'll carry Crookshanks for a while." When she continued to look dubious, he added in an exasperated tone, "We've been in and out of two book stores, a stationery shop, Madam Malkin's and the apothecary. Not to mention Magical Menagerie and the fiasco at the ice cream parlor. A bit more time in the Quidditch shop won't hurt."

"Oh, fine. Let's go," Hermione answered resignedly. Harry smiled and reached out to take Crookshanks's cage from Hermione, but somehow he ended up with several other bags as well. Hermione smiled under her considerably lighter load, and Harry grumbled about sneaky friends while they made their way to Quality Quidditch Supplies. When they arrived, they found Ginny drooling over the Firebolt along with several other Hogwarts students and even a few of their parents. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Harry slid up beside Ginny and said, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Harry could hear the awe in her voice, mingled with a hint of longing. "I wish Mum and Dad could afford one."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah. I'd like one myself."

Ginny turned to face him in surprise. "You mean you don't have one? I mean, you've got all that money in your vault, and I thought..." Ginny trailed off and pinked slightly.

Harry nudged Ginny's shoulder when she turned away. "What'd you think?"

"I thought for sure you were rich enough to have one." She looked away and continued, "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to look last year when we went to your vault, but I've never seen that much gold all at once before. I really didn't do it on purpose, I promise."

Harry smiled and shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I was probably even more embarrassed for you guys to see it than you are for looking.

"And no, I didn't buy one. If there's one thing I learned from the Dursleys, it's that if you have to ask for the price of something with one of those signs, you can't afford it," he added, gesturing at the sign that read, 'Price Available Upon Request.' Ginny nodded thoughtfully but said nothing.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a raucous affair. The twins had apparently enjoyed quite the successful outing with Lee Jordan and were in excellent spirits. Ginny smiled when Fred slipped her an assortment of small fireworks under the table while George regaled the assembled diners with boisterous and thoroughly embellished tales of their time spent in Egypt. Everyone except Percy laughed boistrously, despite most of them having been present for the original events.

During a lull in the conversation, Harry broached a subject he'd been wondering about all summer.

"Hey Ron, did Bill tell you guys anything about being a Curse Breaker?" Ron shrugged and shook his head as he continued noshing on his steak and kidney pie.

Ginny rolled her eyes at her older brother and gave an exasperated sigh. "Ronald Weasley, you have the memory of a gypsy moth! Bill loves being a Curse Breaker, Harry," she continued. "He studied as an apprentice to a senior Curse Breaker for a while, I don't remember how long--"

"Three years, dear," Mrs. Weasley interjected.

"For three years, and he got his choice of assignments because he was so good. He went to Egypt because it's so old and exotic, but he could have gone anywhere. Gringotts has dig sites in China and Eastern Europe, even one in Central America opening the graves of some ancient kings. The Talmecs, I think."

"Toltecs," Hermione corrected. At Harry's questioning look, she continued, "According to Muggle archaeologists, they were the mythical precursors to the Aztec civilization, which is the bronze-age society that Cortes found when he arrived in the New World, in what is now called Mexico. We know that the Toltecs were actually a highly magically-advanced society, and almost all evidence of their presence was hidden under ancient and powerful magic. That's why the Muggles think they're mythical. Their civilization reached its peak at least four thousand years ago, making them the earliest organized magical society in history. They even pre-date the Egyptians. I'm surprised Bill didn't decide to go there."

Ginny grinned. "He said he thought about it, but Mum would've had a fit if he'd moved so far away."

Ginny's comment was met with a red face on Mrs. Weasley and laughter from her brood. Even Percy chuckled at the image of his worldly brother cowering before his mother's wrath, and the chaotic good humor that had preceded Harry's question returned. Eventually, the atmosphere became too much for Percy. After a particularly embarrassing tale about the Sphinx and a feather-duster, the newly-minted Head Boy sniffed disdainfully and announced that he was going to retire for the evening. Only Mrs. Weasley looked sad to see him leave.

The remaining Weasleys plus Harry and Hermione sat around the table drinking tea and chatting amiably, enjoying the aftermath of a pleasant meal, when suddenly Harry remembered a purchase he'd made earlier in the summer. "Excuse me everyone. Ill be right back."

He pushed his chair away from the table and dashed out of the dining room. He heard suspicious laughter coming from the room behind him, but he did not slacken his pace. A few minutes later, he descended the stairs and returned to the dining room full of amused Weasleys carrying an awkwardly-wrapped package under his arm.

Hermione looked at Harry strangely. "What is that, and why did you leave so fast to get it?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I almost forgot I had it, and I wanted to make sure I could get it and bring it down before Ginny went to bed."

Ginny peered at him curiously. "What's it got to do with me?"

Harry grinned and handed her the package. "Happy Birthday, Ginny."

Ginny's eyes widened and she reached out slowly to take the package. She began unwrapping it uncertainly, but she stopped and studied Harry before getting far. "Why, Harry?"

Harry blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"My birthday was three weeks ago. You didn't send me anything, and I didn't even think about it that much, so why give me something now?"

Harry was distinctly uncomfortable with the notion that Ginny hadn't minded not getting a birthday card from him. "Sorry, Ginny. I wasn't sure Hedwig would make it to Egypt and back, and I didn't want to risk it." He took a deep breath and continued, "I remembered how embarrassed I was last summer when I didn't have a birthday gift for you. I wanted to make it up to you, so I bought that," he finished, gesturing toward the partially opened present.

Ginny flushed and nodded. "Thanks Harry," she said in a soft voice.

Harry smiled at her, and he was surprised to notice that Ron and Mrs. Weasley were looking at him with red faces. He turned back to watch Ginny finish unwrapping the present and saw her freeze as the polished handle of a Nimbus 2000 came into view. "Harry?"

He smiled uncertainly. "Um, don't you think you should finish unwrapping it?"

Ginny shook her head firmly but said nothing. Her brown eyes were wide.

Mrs. Weasley craned her neck to look around Ginny at the partially-exposed gift before glancing sharply at Harry. "You bought Ginny a broom, Harry?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley."

"That was very generous of you, but you shouldn't spend so much on Ginny's birthday present, and I can't let her accept it."

"Mum!" Ginny objected furiously. Her mild discomfort with Harry's gift had clearly been overwhelmed by her indignation at her mother's refusal to let Ginny make her own decision.

"It really wasn't that expensive, Mrs. Weasley," Harry responded. The red-haired matron was about to protest, but Harry faced Ginny and added, "You helped me get through the end of last year, Ginny. We're friends. I thought you might like to fly together now and then, and it wouldn't be much fun if you were on a school broom. And I like the idea of us having the same broom. It would make races and such more interesting.

"And with the Firebolt and the Nimbus 2001 out, the old 2000 isnt very expensive anymore," Harry added, looking pointedly at Mrs. Weasley. "Actually, I had a hard time finding one. It turns out that Quality Quidditch doesn't carry brooms more than a year past their model date, so I had to get this one used." He smiled sheepishly at Ginny. "Sorry about that."

Ginny grinned in response. "You bought me a broom, Harry! I don't care if you found it in a junk shop!"

Ginny's enthusiasm was contagious, and soon most of the Weasleys were crowding around, examining Ginnys new broom. Harry was the only one to notice the dark look Ron shot in his direction before stalking off upstairs. Harry's frustrated grimace likewise went unmarked.

"Can I have a go," Fred exclaimed. "After you, I mean," he added a moment later.

Ginny laughed. "Sure. But I think Harry gets to ride it first. He bought it used," she grinned, "and I wouldn't want to get on a jinxed broom."

Everyone in the room besides Ginny went instantly and utterly silent. They all stared at Harry, and he gulped. "The man in the store checked it for damage and hexes, and I flew a couple circles around my room just to make sure," he explained solemnly. He turned to face Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "I wouldn't put Ginny in danger like that."

Ginny looked around the room at the concerned faces surrounding her. "I was just kidding. Everyone knows you can't hex a broomstick. Why're you acting so weird?"

"Harry was almost killed in his first Quidditch match when someone jinxed his broom," George explained with uncharacteristic gravity.

"It was Quirrell," Hermione added.

"Quivering Quirrell tried to kill you?" Fred asked Harry incredulously.

"No," Harry answered. "Well, not exactly," Harry amended when he saw Fred's confused expression. "Voldemort was sharing Quirrell's body," Harry paused, frustrated, while everyone shuddered at his use of the Dark Lord's name. "As I was saying, _You-Know-Who_ was the one who tried to kill me. Actually, he tried several times that year."

Fred nodded in understanding. "We're not gonna forget that any time soon. Harry wouldn't risk giving anyone a cursed broom, Gin."

Ginny huffed. "Don't call me 'Gin,' Frederick. You know I hate that name."

* * *

Later that evening, Harry was packing his trunk and realized he'd left his shopping bags in the dining room. On his way down the stairs, he heard his name in a snatch of conversation coming from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room.

"Harry's got a right to know. I've tried to tell Fudge, but..."

* * *

He ascended the stairs half an hour later, deep in thought. _'Black and Lestrange broke out of prison to get to me. Why now? What changed?'_

He was only mildly surprised to find a stormy-faced Ron sitting on his bed when he returned to his room. "Alright there, Ron?"

"How could you buy Ginny a broom, Harry? You've never bought anything like that for me!"

Harry grimaced. This was obviously going to be yet another unpleasant conversation. "You remember how mortified I was last summer," Harry began calmly. "Can you imagine what it was like for me watching you all celebrate Ginny's birthday? Your family took me in, fed me and showed me the best summer of my life. How did I repay them? By stiffing your sister on her birthday! It was humiliating!"

"And what about me?" Ron snapped. "Don't you think it's embarrassing to be the only one in the family without a broom?"

"Well, I reckon--"

"You don't know Ginny, Harry! She's always had everything she ever wanted, and she lords it over the rest of us that Mum goes out and buys her new dresses while I get hand-me-downs all the way from Charlie and Bill!"

Harry was confused. "That really doesn't sound like Ginny, Ron," he began slowly.

"That's because you've barely spoken to her! I've lived with her for twelve years! All she has to do is bat her eyes at Mum and she gets whatever she wants! You can't imagine how many times she's gotten me into trouble for things she did. You don't ever want to get punished by my mum and then have Fred and George out for revenge, all for something you didn't do in the first place!" Ron grimaced at the end of his diatribe, obviously remembering some unpleasant events from his childhood. "And now she's gone and stolen my best mate!"

"She didn't steal me, Ron. You chucked me aside!" Harry responded hotly. "And as for the other thing, that's what little sisters do, isn't it? They've got to protect themselves somehow, so they run to their parents!"

Ron growled at Harry's implication that Ginny's behavior was expected. "And what about me? Mum and Dad never looked out for me. I was everybody's favorite target, even Ginny's! Don't let the cute and innocent look fool you. The girl's a little monster."

Harry turned absolutely cold in an instant. "Shut up, Ron." Ron looked at Harry, confusion evident on his face. "I don't care how angry you are at me," Harry continued. "Don't you ever let me hear you say something like that again.

"Ginny went through hell last year, and neither of us helped at all. We were so busy trying to find out who the Heir of Slytherin was that we forgot to watch out for your sister. _Percy_ looked after her better than we did, even if he went about it wrong."

"But--"

"If I was embarrassed that I couldn't give Ginny a birthday gift, can you even imagine how horrified I was when I found out what was happening to her right under our noses?"

"Yeah," Ron answered softly. "Yeah, I reckon I can."

"A used broomstick isn't nearly enough to make up for that, Ron," Harry continued. There was finally emotion creeping back into his voice as Ron's irrational jealousy began to dissipate. "And I'm not going to buy you a broom just because you're jealous of Ginny."

"Hey! I never--"

"Yes you did, Ron. You may not have put it into words, but you said it all the same."

Ron nodded, shamefaced, and left Harry's room without another word.

* * *

The next morning was chaos of a sort only the Weasleys could generate. Harry had packed the night before, and so was largely insulated from the disorder, able to simply watch the goings-on around him. Unfortunately, it didn't protect him completely, and Ron spilled a glass of pumpkin juice down his back. Mr. Weasley cleaned it up in a trice, but Harry wasn't entirely convinced that the redheaded boy hadn't done it deliberately.

The Weasleys plus Harry managed to make it to King's Cross and get on the train just in time, for which Harry was grateful. He didn't fancy another year arriving at Hogwarts by alternative means. He sighed and slumped into a seat when he finally managed to locate an empty compartment.

Mr. Weasley had cornered him on the platform and tried to explain the situation with Black and Lestrange. Harry hadn't let him get too far before telling the older man about overhearing the conversation between the elder Weasleys the evening before. Harry thought that would be the end of it, but Ron's father had extracted a promise not to go looking for the escaped convicts.

It didn't make any sense, Harry told himself once he was able to relax a bit. _'Why would I go looking for people who want to kill me?'_

Ron, Hermione and Ginny piled into the compartment behind him, a furious spitting sound coming from Hermione's cat carrier. Crookshanks was obviously not happy with his travel arrangements. Harry sighed. It was going to be a very long train ride, but he knew he wouldn't get a better opportunity to share some important information. He wasn't looking forward to the experience, especially given the fragile nature of his friendships with Ron and Hermione, but he knew there wasn't really much choice in the matter. There wasn't nearly enough privacy at Hogwarts for a conversation like the one he needed to have. "Shut the door. There's something I need to tell you guys."

Ginny locked the door and drew the blinds, and Hermione looked expectantly at Harry. "Are we about to find out how you managed to learn enough to pass three advanced exams in two weeks?"

Ginny turned to face Harry looking shocked, and Harry realized that he'd never told her he was studying to take fourth- and fifth-year exams. "No, Hermione. I overheard a conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley last night. They were talking about something that happened at Azkaban right before Black and Lestrange escaped."

Hermione lost the battle with her natural curiosity. "What?"

"The warden heard Black muttering in his sleep. Something about, 'Get to Hogwarts. Get Harry.' The Ministry reckons Black and Lestrange escaped to kill me. No one's seen so much as a hair from either of them since they escaped, and the Aurors are worried. Fudge is putting dementors at Hogwarts to protect us."

Hermione gasped. "Dementors?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "Yes."

Ron frowned and glared at Harry and Hermione. "Do the two of you want to explain to those of us who don't know weird bits of magical trivia?"

"Dementors guard Azkaban," Harry began.

Ron and Ginny both looked alarmed. "Dad's been to Azkaban a few times for work," Ginny said quietly. "He always comes back pale and shaky. Is that because of the dementors?"

Harry nodded. "Probably. Dementors suck all the happiness out of you. They feed on your pleasant memories, and if you stay around them long enough, they'll take away every happy memory you have, leaving you nothing but your worst experiences."

"And that's what's guarding Hogwarts," Ron concluded grimly.

Harry looked seriously at Ron and nodded his head once. "That's what I needed to tell you. Be careful this year. Between Black, Lestrange and the dementors, I dont think Hogwarts is going to be very safe."

A tense silence descended upon the compartment at that pronouncement. Harry looked studiously out the window, watching the countryside pass, because he was afraid of what he might see in his friends' eyes.

Some time later, Harry was startled out of his reverie by a question from Ron. "Harry, when did you learn so much about dementors? It's not like Lockhart covered them in Defense." Ron shot a look at Hermione with his second statement, but she studiously ignored him.

Harry had first learned about dementors from Tom's memories, but there was actually far more information in the _Monster Book of Monsters_ than even Tom Riddle knew. "Hagrid sent me a copy of the _Monster Book of Monsters_ for my birthday. There's a whole section on dementors toward the back."

"You read a textbook over the summer?" Ron's disbelief was tangible, and Harry snorted in amusement.

"Just parts of it. Dementors sounded interesting." Harry shrugged, unable to explain further.

Ron's question had reminded Harry of Dumbledore's letter. He still wasn't sure it was a good idea to tell Ron and Hermione about Tom, especially given his fight with Ron less than twenty-four hours earlier, but he doubted he'd get a better opportunity for a long time. Unfortunately, he was absolutely certain that Ginny wouldn't react well to the news. He turned to her and said apologetically, "There's something I need to talk to Ron and Hermione about. Can you give us a few minutes?"

Ginny's face fell. Harry could tell she was hurt, but he wasn't ready to tell her about Tom yet, and he couldn't see a way of telling Ron and Hermione without asking her to leave for a while. He hated doing that to his newest friend, but before he could apologize again, she answered resolutely, "Okay, Harry. I guess I can go find my roommates."

She exited the compartment without further comment, but Harry saw the disappointment on her face and the tension in her shoulders. He was rather disgusted with himself when he saw a satisfied look on Ron's face.

She nodded, and Harry continued, "The _Monster Book_ was where I learned most of what I know about dementors, Ron, but it wasn't the first time I'd heard of them."

"Which was where?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Tom Riddle."

Hermione looked confused, and Ron scowled. "Who?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago. When Moaning Myrtle was killed by the basilisk, he framed Hagrid for the murder. He knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while he was still at Hogwarts, so he created a magical diary and enchanted it with a memory of himself. The diary contained all the knowledge necessary to find and open the Chamber." _'And a lot of other things, besides,'_ he added silently.

"That was the diary that I found in Myrtle's bathroom last winter, and it was the diary that caused Ginny to be taken down into the Chamber." Harry paused and looked at his friends. Ron was pale, and Hermione looked worried, but neither tried to stop him. "Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin, and he was evil enough even before he started Hogwarts, but he wasn't born that way. He grew up in an orphanage where he was bullied and abused. That's what taught him to hate.

"When I defeated Riddle and saved Ginny, I absorbed all of the knowledge and magic he'd placed in the diary. That's why Dumbledore couldn't Obliviate me," Harry concluded and looked significantly at Hermione.

She nodded at him in understanding, but Ron interrupted. "I don't get it. Why couldn't he Obliviate you?"

"Because Obliviation doesn't erase memories," Hermione explained quietly. "It just puts a block on them. It's possible for them to leak into your subconscious, especially when your defenses are low, like when you're asleep." Harry nodded approvingly at Hermione's summary of the relevant facts.

Ron nodded. "And you'd have had horrible nightmares about things you couldn't remember once you woke up," he said, looking straight into Harry's brilliant green eyes.

"That's right."

Harry was about to say more, but Hermione beat him to it. "Even worse, a powerful wizard might be able to remove the block all at once and let the memories flood into your consciousness. That would be far, far worse than a few nightmares."

Harry shivered. That idea hadn't even occurred to him, but he could see how damaging it could be if he ever came up against Voldemort again. "Dumbledore said the nightmares alone could drive me mad, so he taught me to deal with the memories instead of suppressing them."

"How?" Hermione asked.

"It doesnt matter, Hermione." Hermione stared at him mulishly, reluctant to relinquish any source of knowledge when it presented itself so freely. Harry sighed. "Fine. I'll explain later, but I have more I need to tell you first."

Hermione continued to glare at Harry for a long moment before nodding in acquiescence. Harry continued. "Okay. The technique Dumbledore taught me allows me to access all of Tom's memories but still retain my awareness of which memories belong to him and which belong to me. That's how I keep Tom's history separate from mine, and it keeps me from going quietly bonkers. I know that horrible things happened to him, but I also know that they happened to _him_ and not to me.

"Tom was a fifth year when he created the diary, and he was extremely good at magic. That's how I was able to take the exams last year. It was Tom's knowledge, not mine."

As Harry had expected, Hermione reacted indignantly. "That's completely unfair! How could Dumbledore let you test ahead like that using knowledge you hadn't even earned?"

"He thought I'd be bored in regular classes, Hermione, and for what it's worth, I think he was right."

"No more bored than I am half the time," she sniffed. "Besides, it's just not right! You didn't get the knowledge fairly! It's cheating!"

Harry bristled. He couldn't believe Hermione had accused him of cheating, and he was furious that she didn't think he'd earned the information floating around in his head. "I defeated a basilisk the size of a small airplane and destroyed an echo of the student who unleashed it in the first place," Harry growled furiously. "A student, I might add, who later grew up to be the most feared Dark Lord of this century."

Hermione and Ron gasped, and Harry nodded in satisfaction. "That's right. Tom Riddle is Voldemort." His companions gasped again at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, and Harry rolled his eyes. None of the occupants of the compartment noticed the alarmed squeaks coming from Ron's pocket.

"I'm walking around with Voldemort's knowledge in my head, Hermione. Do you still think I haven't earned the right to skip ahead in a few classes?"

"Yes," Hermione answered carefully. "You didn't learn this stuff yourself. No matter how hard it might have been, it's a tremendous shortcut that isn't available to anyone else. It's not fair, and you know that."

Harry was incensed. "Of course it isn't fair! Do you think I wanted all that knowledge running around in my head? Do you think I like knowing the sorts of things he did to people? I've got news for you, Hermione. _Life_ isn't fair!

"The point of school is to make sure you learn the things you need to function in the real world after graduation. I'm not going to suddenly forget the things I picked up from the blasted diary, Hermione. It's not like taking a memory potion before sitting my O.W.L.s!"

Harry belatedly realized that shouting at his friends probably wasn't a good idea when things were already so tense, especially since he hadn't put up any privacy wards around their compartment. He took several deep breaths and clenched his fists before continuing, "Anyway, that's what I needed to tell you."

Hermione seethed, and Ron tentatively asked, "Why didn't you want Ginny to know this?"

"How do you think Ginny would react to finding out it was a teenage Voldemort that kidnapped her and took her down to the Chamber of Secrets to die?" Harry snapped. "How do you think she'd feel if she knew I had all of his knowledge until the age of sixteen running around in my head?"

Ron nodded, but Hermione continued to glare obstinately at Harry. He sighed. There was nothing more to be said. Hermione would come around in her own time or not at all. "Excuse me," Harry began, "I'm going to find someone who actually enjoys my company and beg her forgiveness."

Harry missed the slightly hurt looks coming from both Ron and Hermione, but even if he had seen them, he would likely not have cared. He found Ginny sitting alone in the corridor at the end of the train. He sat down next to her, but she refused to look at him, so he stretched his legs across the corridor and stared at the wall opposite him.

"What are you doing back here?" he eventually asked.

Ginny hung her head, and her hair slid forward from behind her ears to hide her face. "I didn't want to talk to the other girls. They'd just make fun of me like they always do," she admitted. Harry heard the steel in her voice and realized she was practically daring him to say something about it.

"What do you mean?" he asked angrily. If Ginny noticed the hint of temper creeping into Harry's voice, she didn't show it.

"Rebecca and Michelle always used to make fun of me about my robes and my trunk and anything else they could think of. I wore Fred's old robes last year, and my trunk used to be Charlie's. They were both worn out, my robes didn't fit right, and my trunk has a hinge missing. They thought it was hilarious how poor we are."

"But you have new robes this year. They fit you. In fact, they're pretty nice, if I may say so, and I could fix your trunk before you can say 'Bob's your uncle'."

"It wouldnt matter," Ginny answered angrily. "We'd still be poor, and my robes would still be second-hand. They won't care about anything else."

Harry nodded. Children were often cruel, especially teenage girls. Harry had quite a bit of experience with that himself, and Tom had seen it often enough that he grew to hate everyone around him. Harry realized he'd been cruel to send Ginny away, if only by accident. "I'm sorry about making you to leave."

Ginny turned to look at him hopefully. "Then you're going to tell me what you told Ron and Hermione?"

"Eventually," Harry hedged. "I don't think you're quite ready to hear what I have to tell you."

Ginny turned away from him and hid her face again. "Then you're not really sorry, are you?"

"Yes, I am. Maybe not for sending you away, but that it was necessary. I didn't want to hurt you, Ginny. I hated having to do it. I wish there'd been another way. If it makes you feel any better, I promise that I'll tell you my secret as soon as I'm sure it won't freak you out."

"I wish you'd trust me, Harry. You saved my life. I don't take that lightly."

"I do trust you, and I know that you trust me. But the thing I need to tell you is big. It's really, tremendously huge, and I don't think you're ready to trust me quite that much yet."

"This has something to do with the diary, doesn't it?" Ginny asked sadly.

"Yes. It hurt you because you trusted it, and you're still not ready to give that trust all the way again."

Ginny nodded. "Okay." She waited a beat before adding, "You said something about fixing my trunk?"

Harry grinned and grabbed her hand. "Come on," he said, "let's go back to the compartment and I'll take care of it." Ginny allowed Harry to pull her back to the compartment where Ron and Hermione were waiting, but she didn't say anything for a long time.

* * *

A/N: Mr. Weasleys snippet of dialogue when Harry walks down the stairwell is from _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_, American Edition p. 65.

Due to an anonymous review I received, I've decided to clear up a few things. First, at the moment, Harry's personality is pretty similar to how he was in the books. However, I hope that some differences are already becoming apparent. That has certainly been my intention. These changes will grow as Harry assimilates more of Tom's knowledge and experience, converting it from information he has at his disposal to reflexive experience that influence his thought patterns.

Second, the story so far mirrors canon relatively closely, though some differences should already be apparent. In order to keep the story interesting, I've had to make a few small changes in the official back-story. These will occasionally have far-reaching consequences that will be very difficult for even an enterprising reader to predict. This was not my original intention, but I pretty quickly realized that the story would get boring if it only featured a smarter, more magically-developed Harry. Some of the plot differences that will emerge are due to changes in Harry, while others are due to changes in the back-story. There are also some narrative choices I've made (or will make) that don't really fit within either category, which I simply attribute to the Butterfly Effect. Examples of the last include Aunt Marge's arrival at Privet drive a full three weeks earlier than in canon.

I hope that clarifies a bit where I'm planning for things to go, and thanks for reading. 


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